Shadows of the Lost, Hope in the Darkness
by NoFacesOnlyMasks
Summary: A followup/ side story to Bitter Escape. Paul and Hannah have found one another and are bound to Lucius. But the afterlife proves to be far more strange and horrifying than they ever imagined. This is their story, as they try to find meaning amid a bleak world. To do so, they must resist the pull of their inner Shadows and fight off Oblivion.
1. Chapter 1: Lovers of Mercy

**To all my loyal fans, who have waited a year for Lucius to come back, this is what has occupied my literary time instead. That, and the struggles of life. I hope you enjoy it and that it stirs your heart a little.**

Hannah and Paul stood on the walkway over the club, watching Lucius leave, walking away into the shadows between the many colored lights that flashed and moved in time to a gentle, rhythmic 80s electro dance beat.

Paul turned to Hannah and gazed at her thin and pale face, her high cheekbones and elongated nose making her seem regal, her pale eyes shining with a fierce pride, though the look was somewhat ruined by the matted, dark red locks tousled around her face. Still, she was noble and unashamed in her nakedness, her tall, lithe body proudly displayed, only the golden chains around her waist covering her, more a decoration then clothing. Paul still couldn't believe that she was there, standing next to him. It seemed like a dream, even now.

Hannah turned toward him, smiling wistfully. Every time she stared at the tall, dark, and gaunt yet handsome man in front of her, she felt her heart fill with wonder. He had always been a source of hope in the depth of despair. When her dreams of becoming a writer had been smashed against the hard reality of life in LA, and she found herself in a desperate spiral downward that ended in hellish imprisonment, Paul had been the wind under her wings, lifting her up and setting her free. Not to say that she'd relied on him – far from it, Hannah valued her independence first and foremost – but he'd always been there, ready to help her in any way she needed it. And now he'd done it again in the afterlife. This weird new existence wasn't so bad, if she had a rock to cling to like him.

They stared into the windows of one another's souls, Paul peering down into her deep, blue pools, she into the bright, vibrant green, both shining with a light that refused to fade away in this land of shadow. He pulled her towards him in a gentle, loving kiss, and for a moment they felt the spark of life light up again. Their physical sensations were still numb and foggy compared to life, but the fog seemed to be swept away as they held one another. All that really mattered, in the Shadowlands – Pathos, the energy of Wraithly existence – was fueled by emotional resonance. And they were feeding one another, giving one another an endless reason to keep existing, to stay strong. For a few moments, they were so locked in their passion that they forgot themselves and felt _alive _again.

The moment was ruined as Venus walked through the two of them, causing them both to turn insubstantial, to go almost completely numb, like they were hit with a dose of Novocaine, losing even the ghost of physical comfort they had shared. They pulled back from one another, startled. They looked around at the sound of more approaching footsteps, trying to peer through the shadowed gloom, broken only by the occasional flashing light. Out of the shadows surrounding the walkway above the altar, Father Francis appeared. The priest was nearly invisible at first, dressed all in black, even black gloves, all of which matched his nearly pitch-dark hair with a few striking streaks of pure white. Even his black eyes matched the gloom. His face was pale and shone brightly against the darkness, however, as did the traditional white collar section showing up on his neck. As he wandered forward into the pale light cast by a dim spotlight shining on nearby dancing girls in cages, his face became clearer. Paul may have deep circles under his eyes, but Father Francis' were positively sunken, his face set in deep frown lines and creases seeming to be a mask of old judgmental anger.

"Hope I"m not interrupting," Francis commented. There was a slight mocking tone in his voice, a shadow of a sneer on his long face as he looked down his hooked nose at them from his impressive height, his deep blue eyes seeming to radiate an unspoken accusation.

Hannah looked away, embarrassed, but Paul had always been the confrontational type, and had a special hatred for religious conservatives. "Oh, I'm sorry, am I offending your delicate sensibilities? Or perhaps you're just a tad jealous that you spent your life celibate, only to find no reward this side of death?"

His face went dark, and his mouth curled into a snarl. Only for a moment, though, before he began muttering something – a Latin prayer, Pater Nostrum. He finished the incantation and returned to himself, his face now serene. "You aren't far off the mark. Sometimes I find my faith shaken, find myself resentful towards the sensualists and hedonists, find myself regretting my life decisions. But I will keep the faith as I always have, and fight through this purgatory. For purgatory it must be. Not all who die come here, so clearly there is some other afterlife beyond this one. I have heard stories, of a way to pass beyond these lands of shadow, to transcend this state. And so, I stand firm in my faith, in this final test, as I did all my life. After all, it seems rather foolish to quit a race right before the finish line." He gave them a kind, grandfatherly smile. "Look, I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. I would especially like to apologize to you." he said, gently touching Hannah's shoulder, who now turned back to him, hurt but mostly hopeful. "It is not my place to judge, especially on such flimsy grounds as your nakedness. Did you know, that the Bible actually has nothing to say against being without clothing? It's something that Adam and Eve made up, a rule of morality that humanity imposed arbitrarily upon the world. Ah, but there I go, spouting scripture uninvited. Still, I do hope you understand how upset I was, having my only sanctuary violated in such a manner. To see my church transformed in such a way after my death, year after year growing further and further into twisted debauchery, has tried my soul mightily. And then, to have a supernatural creature of darkness enter my innermost sanctuary – not that Lucius was the first to pass within the sanctuary of the church, mind you, but none have ever touched my relics since they were placed into storage. I was certain that at long last I was to be served my final eviction notice. You, too would have reacted harshly. I do hope you can forgive me."

Hannah smiled back, replying, "Of course!"

But Paul wasn't as trusting. This man had been raving mad, and had only backed off from screaming that Lucius was a demon when he realized he could cause Venus pain. He'd been pure vindictiveness. This was too much, too fast. Paul suspected some trick. "Why did you suddenly decide we weren't servants of Satan? Did you start praying? Did God tell you to start treating us decently?"

Hannah glared sidelong at Paul, muttering, "He's trying. You don't have to be so harsh."

But Father Francis just smiled at Paul in that kind, grandfatherly way as the spotlight shifted and intensified, causing every shadow to flee, casting him in full light. "Yes, in a way. I followed Venus, and was disappointed when she was doing nothing but pacing, when I had no excuse to get Lucius to punish her. And it occurred to me that I had just refused to trust him at all, and now I was ready to serve him, and that perhaps I wasn't entirely in my right mind. So I did what I always do when I'm not entirely myself – I prayed. And after careful self-reflection, I realized that I hadn't been in my right mind – I had given in to the influence of my Shadow."

The spotlight clicked off for a moment, casting all in darkness, before a blacklight flicked on, moving slowly to highlight the girls behind Father Francis. The music became low, ominous, and throbbing. Shadows became deep, and everything was cast into either darkness or a strange light. Paul's eyes narrowed at the mention of the Shadow, despite the darkness, but Hannah's went wide, and she turned to Paul. "The Shadow... that's the voice, the one you told me about?" Paul nodded. "I only heard it once, but that was more than enough to terrify me. When I was being taken away in chains, it was telling me that I deserved what was happening, that I should have listened to my mother, that this was what happened to bad girls..." Hannah shuddered, and Paul took her into his arms, kissing the top of her head, trying to comfort her. "That voice... it was mine! It knew me, knew everything about me. It knew just where to jab, right where I was weakest. And then, when I was about to despair, it offered me a way out, told me it could give me power to escape the chains, if only... it wasn't to clear about what it wanted in exchange – just an admission it was right, I guess."

Paul closed his eyes, ashamed, knowing that he'd taken up just such an offer when he was at his weakest, so he could appear in front of Lucius in the hope that he could save Hannah. He had despaired of finding her, of ever holding her in his arms again. He had briefly despaired of having any reason at all of continuing to exist, when he thought all hope was lost, when he was being sucked down into that dark sea. _Well,_ he thought, _I hadn't completely given up, even then. I still wonder...if I had, if I'd let myself be pulled down into that whirlpool, if I'd given in to my shadow, would I have been stuck in that other world? Was it real at all?_ Paul shook his head to drive out the melancholy thoughts. _All that matters is that she's here, now, with me._

Father Francis, like a proper priest, wouldn't let him be, twisting his guilt, his gaunt face seeming to be nothing but long shadows leading into greater darkness, barely lit by the blacklight except when a blood-red light flashed on his face, which it did with increasing frequency as the music blasted into loud, goth rock, the loudspeakers screaming 'Burning, now I bring you Hell!' right before Father Francis began his lecture. "You must never give in to the temptations of the Shadow, for it has only one goal, only one purpose that drives its existence – your complete and utter destruction! It knows everything about you because it _is_ you, is a part of you, that part of you that is hateful and despairing, that part that wishes for self-destruction."

Francis turned to the side, contemplating even as an energetic guitar riff began and a solid blue light replaced the blinking red one, pushing away the shadows, casting everything in a surreal hue. Francis no longer looked ominous, only sad and thoughtful. "Some have a theological explanation for this part within us that loathes us, other a psychological one, but there can be no denying that it existed within us in life, and now has a mind and voice of its own in this afterlife. I have my own theories as to that. No doubt you have heard a name whispered on the lips of the dead if you have spent any time here. Oblivion – the darkness that seeks to consume all. It is very real – none deny this. I believe this Oblivion is the pit of hell itself, and I tell you now, I was wrong about hell." The light shifted to red, moving behind Francis and tilting towards him, casting him in a fiery, red halo. "I thought it was a burning pit of fire, filled with laughing demons. I see now that it is nothing more than a pit of despair. It is the absence of hope, absence of the desire to continue existing. That is why it seeks to unmake all of creation. It is empty and barren, and I have come to realize that any passion – anything from lust to obsession, anything at all – is good and right if it helps a spirit stay connected to existence, lets them feel alive. For this is what helps us resist the clarion call of Oblivion, which works through our Shadows, strengthening them, giving them will of their own. I believe that is why our Shadows have come to life – because we are on the edge of Oblivion, on the edge of Hell in this Purgatory." The red light went off for a second, as did the sound, until a rapid, thrashing electronic melody burst forth in time to many flashing multicolored lights. "Have you encountered one of the fallen souls, the Specters? No? Count yourself lucky. They are mindless terrors, and they seek nothing more than the torment and destruction of us all. They are those souls who have given in to their Shadows, let the taint of Oblivion take over their light, their divine spark. All that is left for them is suffering, and they only way they can relieve their suffering is to force it onto others, to drag other souls down into the pit of despair with them. Specters, and the Oblivion they serve, are a nightmare made manifest."

The beat suddenly stopped, silence falling for a second until airy female vocals began, as a white spotlight began slowly moving around them. Paul was now distinctly uncomfortable. _I gave in to my Shadow, then gave up on hope and got pulled down into a hellish pit of despair._ _Was that the price I paid? Even so, I can't trust answers from this old man. Sure, he might have knowledge, but it's tainted by his faith, by his fanatical worldview. Still, at least he doesn't seem completely crazy. _ "Well, I guess I can forgive how you were acting. I've given in to my Shadow before, and ended up acting like... well, let's just say I almost gave up on what was most important to me." He kissed Hannah's cheek again, holding her tight to him. She leaned against him, and he could tell by the tension in her neck that she was still nervous. But not scared. He realized that she didn't get scared easily. She could handle a lot. A lot more than he could, in some ways. The Shadow and Oblivion freaked him out.

Father Francis smiled kindly, his face seeming to glow as a blue light moved over it, but his tone remained severe. "The Shadow has many ways of attacking us – despair, guilt, outrage – whatever will most effectively drag us down, make us into monsters. And it is intelligent, able to recognize when one strategy is failing, and adopt another. One must be always on guard, especially in moments of weakness or desperation."

Hannah stared intently at Francis as drifting guitar was added to the vocals and the light turned slightly red again. "But isn't there any way to get rid of it? To silence it?"

Francis shook his head, his face regretful as the light moved off of the three of them, leaving them in shadow. "Unfortunately, no. It seems to be an integral part of every soul in this place. Just as we have a divine light within us, and all lights must cast shadows, so there cannot be hope without despair. But despair not! For there is an ancient guild known as the Pardoners, who have mastered the art of recognizing and weakening the Shadow. While it can never be truly defeated, it can be driven back from the forefront of the mind. I myself have begun practicing this art, in an effort to offer comfort to those who were once my flock in life. I watch over them still, from this old church, and it seems to me that the greatest good I can do is to offer them aid in that most desperate of personal, moral struggles, one upon which our continued existence and salvation depends. I offer you this aid as well, my children."

The lights began swinging back and forth rapidly. Paul was, yet again, suspicious. All he'd ever known religious authorities to do was call for the oppression of lifestyles they hated and the bombing of far off people of differing faiths. Then again, Paul had been stuck in the world of politics with a bunch of radical activists, and had never experienced the direct, personal kind of faith and charity that Father Francis was offering now. Hannah had. _He's a kind soul, just a little bitter and crotchety. I think he could make a good friend and guide. I mean, who else do we have right now? I don't trust him blindly – I trust no one blindly – but I think Paul and I can learn from him."_ "Thank you, Father. Is there any way you could help out Paul and myself? Like... make sure that our Shadows don't hurt us any time soon?"

Father Francis nodded, smiling at her as he stepped in close to the two of them. "I will do what I can, child. First, I must look into you, to gauge the strength of your shadow. Separate, please." Hannah smiled reassuringly at Paul before moving away from him, to the opposite side of the walkway. Paul moved to the other side reluctantly, resisting the urge to tell Hannah that this was a bad idea, to insist that it stop. The strobe lights stopped, and all that remained was a dim white spotlight over Hannah. Paul was on the edge of the light, Francis beyond it. "Now, I must peer at you, and enter... I can only describe it as a state of absolute stillness, a connection to the absolute quiet, a state of nothingness. It is a state that few can achieve – it appears to require some combination of meditative concentration and inborn – or rather, indeceased – talent. Now, stay still, and stay quiet."

Francis peered at Hannah intensely, his eyes seeming to go blank, to see beyond her. He moved closer, about six inches from her face, his own features now looking skeletal on the edge of the dim light. Paul felt a twinge of protective fear, but kept himself in check. This old man wasn't a threat... "_Is he?"_ Hannah was staring back just as intently, curious and fascinated. "_I think I can feel what he's doing. What did he say? A state of absolute stillness, a connection to a state of nothingness. Like the meditative exercises my grandma taught me. It's been forever since I used any of them, but I think if I just let all thought go..._ Her eyes began to glaze over. Right as she seemed to be unfocusing, right as Paul was about to ask her what was wrong, Francis broke from his reverie, breaking Hannah's as he exclaimed loudly, "Your Psyche, your true self, has a firm hold on your soul, and your Shadow has next to none. It seems that whatever despair gripped you earlier, you have pulled back from it, and are now filled with hope. I cannot help you – your Shadow is already as weak as it shall ever be. Instead, try and use the way you feel now as an anchor. Try and remember this time, and these feelings, when you are in the midst of despair. Now, if you would not mind, Paul..." With that, he got right in Paul's face, with the same thousand-yard-stare.

Paul was almost tempted to ask him to stop. _This seems like bullshit._ But Hannah was getting close, too, staring at the two of them, eyes glazing over. _Great, now she's trying this bullshit. Well, whatever. If it makes her happy, I'll let it happen._ He just stood there, feeling stupid for about fifteen seconds, until Father Francis broke from his reverie suddenly, exclaiming, "Your shadow has a most terrible hold upon you! It all but dominates your mind, even acting unconsciously upon you, twisting your thoughts into a wretched form! I must come to know the truth of this twisted relationship. Why have you given so much of yourself unto it? Why have you submitted unto the darkness with such abandon? I do not seek to accuse – I simply wish to help. I beg of you, allow me to aid you!"

Paul stepped back from the sudden ferocity. "Look, I think you're off the mark, man. I have every reason to have hope right now. I just saved the love of my life, and I proved my shadow wrong about being helpless! Ever since I rescued Hannah, he's stayed completely quiet. So, no disrespect, but I think you might not be as good at this as you think you are. I've been fine with letting this happen so far, but if you expect me to just believe that you have this mystical talent, you must think I'm as much of a sucker as your former congregation."

Francis didn't get angry – he just sighed, frustrated. Hannah wandered close to Paul, her eyes having the same unfocused glaze the priest had on his face before his rant. There was worry written on her face, worry which twisted into terror the longer she stared. Her gaze came back to the world, and she stared at Paul, terror and tears in her eyes, before throwing her arms around him, sobbing. Paul held her, trying to comfort her, to figure out what was wrong. Hannah calmed herself down, slowly gathering herself off of Paul and moving her face in front of his, staring into his eyes. "Paul," she began in absolute, earnest seriousness, "you have to believe what I'm going to tell you now. I can see your shadow. I was able to see Father Francis' while he did your viewing. I saw that his was strong, but held at bay for now. It was deep, and I could get a sense for it, for the malice and intolerance it was projecting into him. And when I looked at you, I saw... this terrible darkness, a consuming anger eating away at you. Eclipsing you. I could hear it clearly, whispering suspicious thoughts to you, telling you not to trust Father Francis. I know you may not trust him, but please, please trust me when I tell you that he's right."

Francis turned to Hannah, peering at her in interest. "It seems you may posses the gift. Yes, please Paul, trust in her, and heed her words. I only wish to speak to your shadow, to question it. I will not harm you, or touch you. All that will happen is that your shadow be able to be heard by us all, and I can force it to answer my questions honestly. You can decide for yourself if you believe me then, or if you think this all a cheap parlor trick."

Paul narrowed his eyes, still distrustful of this man. _Goddamn it, now he's pulled Hannah into his bullshit. I guess she was always a little impressionable. I'm going to have to be careful about who I bring her around, or she'll end up joining some stupid cult._ Paul sighed. "Alright, whatever. If you think it will help, Hannah, I'll let this guy do his exorcism or whatever."

Father Francis shook his head. "I cannot drive your shadow out or harm it in any way. I am not yet that proficient in the art. I can only help you learn how to fight the shadow on your own terms. Now, please, be still. I require complete concentration to summon forth the Shadow."

Paul stood still, dismissive, but also a little nervous. _Do I really want to call my Shadow out? I only just pushed him down. Maybe this guy is trying to hurt me somehow. Maybe he's already given in to his shadow, filled by bitterness over what happened to his church. This could be a really, really bad idea._ Just as Paul was about to ask Francis to stop, he felt a chill spread across his skin, like a thousand needles of ice. He shuddered, now determined to make this stop. Suddenly, a deep darkness surrounded him, and everything took on a corrupted visage. Father Francis seemed gaunt and malicious. The iron walkway was covered in rust, the stone archways of the church crumbling, and Hannah a weak and pitiable creature, ragged and covered in blood and puke as she had been when she died. Paul stepped back from Francis, terrified. "What the hell did you do to me?" he shouted.

"Be still!" Francis exclaimed, holding out his hands in a dramatic gesture. Paul felt his skin crawl, and terrible pain coursed through him as he fell to his knees. He was ready to rise up and attack this charlatan, until he heard it. That familiar, terrible voice, laughing at him. "Come forth, Shadow of Paul!" The laughter just became louder, mocking and menacing. Francis thrust his hands onto Paul's head, proclaiming, "Speak! Tell us how you have taken such power over Paul!"

The laughter subsided, and for a moment Paul hoped it was over. Then the voice spoke, seeming to echo out of his own head, deafening him. "_**I have taken nothing but what I was offered by Paul. He and I have an... understanding. An agreement.**_"

"Bullshit." Paul spat out around the pain.

"Please, be silent," Father Francis commanded. "You cannot take command of your corpus while I do this, or you shall drive him away again. You may respond to your Shadow's words and lies afterwards. Do not worry, I know better to believe a Shadow's first words, before I have had a chance to compel truth from it. Speak truth, Shadow!"

"_**I'm telling you the truth. Paul and I made a deal, didn't we, buddy? Or has he already forgotten his desperation, when he knew Hannah was dying? He said he was willing to do anything, anything at all to save her. And did I hurt him, did I stop him from doing what he wanted to do? No, I helped him, offered him exactly what he needed – a way to make Lucius pay attention to him, to appear before mortal eyes. Without me, Hannah would be enslaved right now!**_"

"You speak truth, yet you twist it. What you offered him was the devil's deal. Paul, you must resist such temptation – such a deal is always to your detriment."

"_**So you say, you religious fanatic. If Paul was unable show himself to Lucius, he never would have known that Hannah was dying, would never have gone to her apartment, and summoned her soul, kept her soul safe until Paul could get there. So, while you say that nothing I do will ever help, you also have an absolute concept of right and wrong. Paul knows better than to believe in your absolutist way of thinking. Paul understands what's really important – Hannah. Right Paul?**_"

For the first time, Paul thought his Shadow made sense. He had resented and hated his Shadow for picking apart every decision, for sapping his will to exist and keep on trying. But now, he was seeing the ways his Shadow had helped him, the way it had helped him when he really needed it. And maybe, just maybe, it had been right. Maybe he had been keeping him from wasting his time on pointless efforts… and maybe it was the most seductive of tempters.

"You are subtle and devious. You are one of the most dangerous kinds of Shadows. You have a great intelligence, no doubt a product of Paul's sharp mind. But I shall reveal the truth of the matter. What did Paul give you in exchange for the power you offered him?"

Dark laughter followed the question. "_**I only asked that I be allowed to show him the truth of the world, to show him the world as it truly is. That I be allowed to speak truth to him at all times.**_"

"So you are able to distort his perceptions, to whisper to him subtly, to the point he cannot tell your lies from his own thoughts! I see now the nature of the deal you struck with him. I cannot undo what Paul has agreed to, but I can let him know the truth of what you have bound him to. More importantly, I can let Hannah know. While he is now in the grip of your power, she remains pure, a light of hope to keep him from Oblivion. Still, such a deal does not explain your power over him completely. Tell me, what driven him into such angst?"

"_**When Hannah died, he was dragged down into a Harrowing. He experienced a state of absolute despair, believing Hannah lost to him. I kept telling him his efforts were pointless – which they were. After all, as you know, a Harrowing is a great nightmare, a dark melodrama created by Spectres in the Labyrinth. He was wasting his time buying into their lies, and I tried to tell him as much. But would he listen? Of course not. His constant struggles, his decision to believe in the play of despair, only fueled his despair further, which nearly kept him from coming to Hannah's actual rescue, busy as he was chasing after Spectre lookalikes in the pit of darkness. And you accuse me of deception, when all I've ever done is tell him truth! Meanwhile, you cling to the delusions of absolute faith, absolute certainty that you know what is right for everyone around you. Who gave you such perfect knowledge, hm? Did you realize that this is what the afterlife was going to be, or were you expecting something else? So how can you say with such absolute certainty that the Shadow is always destructive? Perhaps some of us simply point out the darker side of life, which can help one achieve ones goals, no? Perhaps some of us are simply trying to help our better halves by pointing out what they can't see.**_"

"Or perhaps you are simply speaking those words that you believe will most effectively tempt Paul. You are capable of great intelligence and flexibility. You have simply chosen a new tactic of temptation. And you will continue to adapt, deviously intelligent as you are. I would speak with you further, but I don't see the point. I know how you have twisted yourself deep within Paul's mind. I know your methods, and the logic you will use to corrupt. More importantly, Paul is now aware of these things. In the end, only he can resist the pull of Oblivion, which works through you. Return to the darkness from which you came!"

With that last proclamation, the darkness retreated, the pain faded, and Paul felt… a presence return to him. He hadn't noticed it leaving, but he felt it coming back like a weight dragging him down. The voice now spoke to him from within his head._** You can choose to trust me, or this fanatic. But I'm always there, watching and trying to help.**_ Paul shuddered as a feeling of terrible menace filled him, a feeling of total helplessness. He felt as though at any moment he could lose control to his Shadow. He was shaking uncontrollably on his knees, desperately hoping for any sort of hope, any relief.

The priest offered none. "Your shadow is now powerful enough that it could take control of you at any moment. When you gain enough negative emotion, enough angst, it becomes strong enough to take over. Most shadows take over at the first opportunity, but yours is devious, and is biding its time. It will take over at the worst moment. There is nothing you can do to stop it. You must simply prepare." He turned to Hannah. "Know that Paul could be controlled by his shadow at a time when it will most hurt you both. You must not blame him. Support and love him through his time of weakness, and he may rise above the darkness."

Hannah nodded, absolutely serious, accepting the weight of responsibility. She turned to Paul her face graven with deep concern, her eyes set intense determination. _I'll keep him safe from this demon within him, no matter what it takes. He saved me when I needed him the most, when I was at my most desperate. I'd do anything to protect him. I may not be strong or know how to fight like he does, but if I can help him with this mental and emotional enemy, I can help him win an even more important battle._ Wrapping her arms around him, she pulled him in to a close embrace. "I swear Paul, no matter what you do, I understand it may not be you. That you're struggling with this... inner monster, whatever it is. I'll love you through it all."

Paul felt like he was thawing, like a paralysis was melting from his bones. He'd been frozen in fear and suspicion, afraid that the Priest might be manipulating him and Hannah... or maybe working with his Shadow. But he felt the darkness of endless speculation into the darkness being driven back by the light of Hannah's love. Here was what he knew he could trust in, a place where no seed of doubt could be planted. _If the Shadow's plan was to drive us apart, to make her suspicious and afraid of me, it backfired badly. We're closer now than we've ever been. _"Thank you, Hannah. You're all I have in this world all that really matters to me. I won't let anything happen to you. We'll both be safe. We'll love each other forever in this afterlife."

"Don't be so certain, Paul." Father Francis interrupted the tender moment, intense and solemn, looming over them, too close for comfort. Paul immediately resented his presence. "It is easy to say that you will be able to keep her safe, but I think you will find the Shadowlands more perilous than you imagine."

"We'll manage," Paul sniped back. "Anyway, don't we have something we were supposed to be doing? Like looking after this club? You should keep an eye on Venus." With that, he turned around and walked away from the severe old man, Hannah following behind him as he walked towards the stairs, Father Francis ending the small procession. While the couple walked through the bar, he remained behind it, looming over Venus, staring down his nose disapprovingly at her. Paul took a moment to make sure he wasn't going to follow them, then said, "Goodbye, Francis."

They moved into the crowd, the counter and Francis disappearing behind the press of bodies. As they wandered into the familiar club they had both frequented in life, the supernatural weirdness began to fade, and a bit of the tension drained out of them. Paul unclenched Hannah's hand, realizing for the first time that he had been crushing it with excessive, nervous force. He turned and looked at her, apologetic. Hannah shrugged, telling him it was no big deal. Paul put his arm around her and leaned into her. Blinking, they looked around the club, and found themselves fascinated by the throb of life and death in this place.

All around them, people moved in a great celebration of life, youth, and pleasure. Everyone was lost in throbbing beat, gyrating against one another, intoxicated and smiling, wild and free. They began to unconsciously sway to the beat, Hannah, swinging her hips, Paul nodding his head. A nearby couple was wildly moving, smoothly twisting in time to the rapid electronic rhythms, feet seeming to fly under them. Paul and Hannah began sliding smoothly over the floor, the old familiar ritual coming back to them. The love and passion flowing from the couple fed them, invigorated them, let them set themselves loose, laughing and free. A circle had opened up around the couple as they began impressing onlookers with dance moves, the blonde muscular shirtless man spinning himself with his hands on the ground like a break dancer, the raven-haired woman in a tank top and jeans smoothly leaping back and forth, whirling in the air. Paul and Hannah entered the circle, their dancing not nearly as impressive – but it didn't matter. No one could see them. And they had room to move here, to go wild and do whatever they wanted, laughing to one another as they swung wildly around, free and alive. They danced the night away like no one was watching, an endless celebration of life and love.

They lost all track of time. They could have gone forever – after all, it's not like they had bodies, had physical limitations. All they needed was the emotional intensity of the couple to sustain them. But that couple did have physical limitations. The track transitioned into something more downbeat, smooth, and psychedelic. The couple stopped moving, looked at one another, panting, and then in unison bowed to the rapt circle of onlookers, who began cheering wildly. They graciously backed out, heading to the bar, and the circle of space closed and dissolved.

Hannah and Paul stopped moving when the couple did. She fell against his chest, laughing. "God, I haven't had this much fun, since..."

"Since our first date? The first time we came to this place?"

"God, you were like a kid at his first concert! You were so overwhelmed by the press of people, the music, the wild hedonism. I couldn't believe you hadn't heard of this club! It was only the hottest new spot in town."

Paul chuckled, the memories seeming to come to life before his eyes. "Yeah, it was right after I helped set up that interview with CNN about your experiences with... well, you know." Her eyes darted away, as they always did when she thought back to her memories of her time as a human trafficking victim. _Except that that never happened. Those memories were placed in her. I just realized that. She doesn't know the truth, that we had met before then. And I could never tell her. Until now. I'm free of the bond. The Masquerade means nothing among the dead._

"Hey, Hannah. Um... I don't know how to put this... I have something I need to tell you. About that whole incident."

Hannah was clearly uncomfortable with the subject. "We've been over it to death. I think I shared just about every detail when you interviewed me."

"You shared every detail you remembered. See... ugh, how do you tell someone this? Things didn't happen the way you remembered them. Your memory was... altered."

Hannah's eyes went wide. "Altered how? What actually happened to me?"

Paul sighed, running his hand through his hair. "Look, you know how I told you about how Lucius was a vampire? Well... there's a whole society of them. They work very, very hard to keep their existence a secret. They can do things like wipe people's memories and place false ones in to replace them. And I... I've been working with them, ever since the night I found you." Paul recounted the investigation, and where it had finally led, the way he'd been saved, and the way the whole incident had been covered up to preserve the Masquerade. Hannah was stunned, almost in a trance. "So, you see, the paper I was working for was... a vampire front group. Look, I was working for the good vampires, the ones trying to fight the powers that be, the ones fighting to stop that kind of horror. It seemed like the best I could do, a chance to make a real difference with some kind of power backing me up, but... I'm sorry for lying to you. I had no choice, I absolutely didn't. It was for your own good. You didn't need to get caught up their world."

Hannah snapped back to attention, and snapped at Paul. "I already have. Twice. That compulsion you mentioned... I got the disease that killed us from a vampire, didn't I? So maybe if you had warned me, I would have known. And who are you to make that call? Aren't you always going on about how the people should judge the truth for themselves?"

Paul flinched, stung. "Well... okay, you have a point. I thought about telling the world the truth, and realized I'd just be branded as crazy, then hunted down. But I could have told you. I just... I couldn't. I was a blood-bound ghoul. I drank their blood. I don't think you understand the power in their blood. It... I belonged to them. They commanded, I obeyed. They tried not to use it, preferred to convince me, but keeping the Masquerade... that was a direct command. I couldn't have told you. The thought never even occurred to me. I... I'm sorry, Hannah." His head was downcast, and he was biting his lip. She's always trusted him, even said he was honest to a fault. How would she take this?

Hannah wasn't sure herself. _Everyone I ever met since coming to LA lied to me. Directors telling me they liked my scripts, and really they just wanted to sleep with me. Casting directors that convince me I could be an actress, then a model – and in the end I ended up a whore, dragged down by false promises. It was after I hit rock bottom and accepted how shitty life can be that I found Paul, the only honest man in LA. And now it turns out he's been lying from day one. But if I can't trust him, then who do I have? And... _"I remember what it was like to have my mind controlled. I couldn't think straight. I was just filled with lust, with a desire to spread myself around to as many people..." Hannah shuddered, horrified now that she could think back and reflect on the filthy, depraved things she had done in the last month, all deliberately unsanitary in a revolting way. She'd been horrified by them, but at the same time, the overwhelming pleasure she felt from giving in to that implanted desire had been... exquisite. "I guess... I can't blame you for following their orders. If you had that little choice, what else could you do? Still... you swear you'll be honest from now on?" She stared into his eyes. "Paul, you're all I've got. You're the only person I've been able to trust since coming to LA. I have to know, to look into your soul and know for sure, that I can trust you from here on out."

Paul stared back into her eyes. "I swear to you, I will never lie to you again. I'm free of my body, so now their blood can't hold me. I'm yours, now." Hannah smiled, tears forming on the edge of her eyes as she wrapped her arms around Paul in a deep hug.

They stayed like that for a minute, holding each other, before separating. Paul leaned up against a wall, and Hannah leaned against him, her head against his neck, his arm wrapped around her chest. They just cuddled for a minute, watching the dance of the living and the dead wind down as the music became more mellow, as the DJ got up from the decks and wandered into a back room.

Hannah smiled. "You know, life could sometimes be shitty, but we always had some good times when we came here. This is the only place in LA where I have only happy memories."

"Is that what brought you back to this place?" inquired a reedy, high-pitched voice from the crowd. A gorgeous woman stepped through the milling people, many of whom were drifting outside to smoke or over to the bar to drink now that the music had calmed down. Everything about her was perfect – her fancy black evening dress, her immaculate skin, her perfectly arranged black hair, and a face so delicate and beautiful it seemed like a porcelain doll, an abstract representation of perfect beauty. She glided gracefully over to them on high heels, a perfectly beautiful ghost.

Hannah and Paul both stared, taken aback that someone was listening in. Hannah, naturally, recovered first. "Well, I mean, not exactly, we were kind of exaggerating, but close enough. We loved this club in life. You just feel so, feel so..."

"Alive." She smiled slightly, her perfect plump red lips shaping into a beautiful grin. "I come here to see the beauty of mortals in love, in lust, lost in throes of beautiful ecstasy. I take inspiration from them, both for my existence and my art."

"Your art?" Paul asked, genuinely curious about what art among the restless dead was like.

"Moliation," she replied, gesturing to her face, to her body as though that should be self-explanatory. 

Hannah looked to Paul in confusion. He shrugged back at her, having no idea what the woman was talking about. Hannah turned back to the woman, hesitantly admitting, "Um... I'm sorry, I'm not familiar with... mole-ee-ay-shun, it was pronounced?"

The woman nodded. "I practice the art of Moliation. I take it you two are newly dead?" Hannah nodded. "Right, well, you know how we aren't as... solid, as we were when we were alive? Our flesh is made of discorporeal stuff, called corpus. Corpus is highly malleable. Moliators shape this flesh, molding it into whatever form of beauty you should desire."

Suddenly her perfect figure, her angelic face made a lot more sense. Hannah laughed in wonder. "Ah, I see now. Well, I have to say, you're excellent at what you do. You're absolutely gorgeous. God, when I think of all the time I spent at the gym, trying to get my body in to shape – and you just, what, mold the corpus like clay? My name is Hannah, by the way. This is Paul."

The woman smiled, replying, "Darlene. A pleasure. It's a bit more difficult than that, especially crafting something truly beautiful, something human and perfectly symmetrical. I've only just begun to get to the point that I find my work acceptable enough to display on myself in public."

"How do you do it?" Hannah asked, pressing her hands into her own abdomen. "Is there some kind of trick to it?"

Darlene chuckled, politely amused at Hannah's efforts. Hannah dropped her hands, grinning ruefully. "Well, I mean, it's somewhat hard to explain. You kind of just have to have the touch, and then you have to tap in to the idea that nothing is solid, not here. We're all memories of ourselves, echoes resonating. There's nothing solid about our bodies, our corpus. That's why they can be melted down and forged into anything else. I keep that forefront in my mind as think about the flesh, and just visualize that change I want to see, directly manifesting it in my corpus. Try it if you want – it might work, though it will probably take a while – if it works at all."

Hannah beamed back at her. "Thanks. That would be really nice. Maybe I could Moliate myself some clothes. Or just touch up my face a little. Is there such a thing as makeup among the dead?"

Paul laughed, telling Hannah, "You look fine. Better than fine. You're beautiful."

Hannah smiled playfully back at Paul. "You're just saying that because I'm naked."

Paul looked hurt. "I always said you were beautiful!"

Hannah gave Paul a mischievous smile. "And I remember you telling me, after our second date – I think you were pretty drunk – that seeing my body was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen." As Darlene started laughing and Paul turned red, Hannah ruffled his hair playfully.

Darlene looked Hannah over carefully, evaluating her, weighing possibilities. "Moliate is really the whole of the fashion and cosmetics among the dead. I'll tell you what, I can help you out a little. I can tell you were quite beautiful in life, but you got pretty ragged near the end, didn't you?"

Hannah cringed, the memory, eager hope now springing on to her face. "Yeah, I got this terrible wasting disease. I felt like I was a disgusting, walking corpse near the end. You don't have to help me at all, I don't have any way to pay you, anything to offer you, but I'd be incredibly grateful if you could do something about my sunken eyes, the stress lines, the ashen pallor, the ribs sticking out of my side because I'd become Kate Moss thin... well, anything at all, really. If you don't mind."

Darlene grinned, clearly amused. "That's workable. Nothing drastic, nothing excessively beautiful – I charge for real work. But I can give you a taste. It'll be about like putting on makeup. Hold still." The perfect statue, the ideal of beauty moved up to Hannah, and she placed her hands over Hannah's face. Paul moved closer to get a good look at what what happening. It was subtle, but he swore her skin looked liquid under Darlene's hands. Her hands moved lower, down the body, and Paul saw Hannah's face. Every hair was now bright, striking red and had been arranged into a perfect swirl of curls that stopped above her shoulders and framed an angelic, regal face. Every worry line had been smoothed, every skin blemish cleansed, as though her image was being run through photoshop. The dark circles of weariness had transformed into perfect eye shadow, eye liner highlighting Hannah's deep, dark liquid eyes. Her lips were fuller, seeming to pout now, and were a deep red to match her hair. Darlene's hands slid down, making all of Hannah's skin model-smooth, erasing cellulite, causing her breasts to become perky and erasing all sag. Darlene stepped back, and Hannah, though she had been beautiful before, was now breathtaking.

Darlene pulled out a mirror from a hand bag and held it up for Hannah to see. She gasped in delight, surprise and joy bursting on to her face. She threw her arms around Darlene, laughing. "I look amazing! Thank you so much! That felt weird, like I was melting. It was kind of scary – I felt like you could have turned me into anything!"

They pulled apart, and Darlene smiled mischievously. "I could have, and then demanded whatever I wanted to change you back. Only those with Moliate can undo damage done by Moliate – the first thing most of us learn is how to return ourselves to our original appearance at death. Be glad I'm an honest person, and I take pride in my work. This is only a shadow of what I can do. If you ever acquire some oboli, come back to me. I work out of the salon, near the Lehman Brothers building downtown."

Hannah nodded, adding, "I know that area. Classy. I hope I can get my hands on a decent amount of money soon – if your shop is half as expensive as the tailors in that area, I might have to work for awhile."

Darlene maintained a friendly smile, but was all business now. "I charge far more. They can only change your clothes. I can change all of you, into anything you wish. Have a favorite celebrity you'd like to look like? A physical feature you've always wanted, something your sister or friend always had that you were jealous of? Do you have some alternative and bizarre idea of beauty you want to explore? All this and more is possible with me. The sky's the limit... well, that, and your wallet. But please, do feel free to stop by any time."

"Yeah, of course!" Hannah replied.

"So..." Paul began tentatively. "Do you know any other ghosts around here? Anyone... I don't know, anyone that comes to this club often?" That seemed as good a way as any to ask the questions on his mind. _I need to find out about what happens in the Shadowlands around here, to report back to Lucius. Plus, it would be nice to have some friends, or at least contacts among the dead._

Darlene smiled, amused. "How very adorable. Enfants trying to socialize. Well, this club has an interesting and eclectic mix. There are some older, more classy and well-off wraiths, mixed in with the masses and the hedonists. There's pathos for all types, here. Come, follow me, I'll introduce you to some acquaintances of mine. You seem alright." With that, she turned on her heel and glided away from them, through the crowd, towards the back of the club.

Paul and Hannah followed Darlene. The music was taking on an eerie and surreal tone, speeding up but staying soft. Hannah saw another porcelain doll dancing, this one naked like her, whose skin was impossibly perfect and pure white – but her body shape had been warped into a perfect hourglass shape. An actual hourglass – her waist was impossibly thin, restricted to the point that her organs would have been squeezed to death, and her ribs would be poking out if she were alive. Paul noticed a tall and incredibly muscular ghost standing near the hourglass woman, gazing at her admiringly, his skin covered in bone spikes. They each seemed like strange caricatures of the concepts of masculinity and femininity. Clearly, Moliation had fans.

They walked past without a word. As they headed towards the back, most of the dead were normal looking, human seeming, except for frequent and strange tattoos on their foreheads. There were exceptions, however. There were prefect expressions of human beauty, souls that looked like gaunt corpses, others that looked inhuman – with one soul appearing to be an Aztec statue come to life. Many simply sat and brooded, but most danced with intense passion, trying to feel alive again. In the spaces between the living, the dead forgot that the despair of death, dancing, laughing, talking, living on.

They approached the booths at the back, where the energy faded away. The living and the dead were more subdued, better dressed, not as extreme in their tastes, with all the wraiths looking more or less human. They approached a group of souls sitting in a booth that would have looked unoccupied to the living. There were three of them. The one on the right was dressed in a pinstripe suit and tie, his hair slicked back with grease, his face narrow and kind of pinched. The ghost on the left was dressed in an old Victorian dress, a corset over her waist, huge bell skirt embroidered with intricate patterns and flowers hiding her legs. Her hair fell down in black waves over her shoulder, her face a mask of doll-like innocence – except for her green eyes, which sharp and piercing, always scanning her surroundings. The man in the middle seemed out of place among the two luxurious members of the upper class – he was wearing a simple maintenance jumpsuit, his hair was unkempt, his face hard, tanned, jagged and covered in scars and sporting lots of stubble. On a utility belt around his waist, he had a variety of tools – but the things that stuck out the most were a massive hammer, and a curved, wicked ridged blade.

Darlene introduced them. "Hello everyone. I would like to introduce you to two of the newly dead, Paul and Hannah. They're currently trying to understand their place in the afterlife." The upscale ghosts acknowledged them with a nod. "This is Harry White..." she said, gesturing to the man in the suit. "...and this is Mattie Harlock," she said, gesturing to the woman in the Victorian dress.

"Nice to meet you," Hannah added politely, shaking their hands in turn. Paul followed suit. "And you are?" Hannah asked, addressing the middle ghost, the one in the jumpsuit.

"I'm John," he replied simply, extending his hand. "Good to meet you."

"These three," Darlene added, "are among the top professionals in their respective fields in LA. If you wish to start being a useful part of the society of the dead, I recommend you find a skill and apprentice under them..." She turned to the trio, "...that is, of course, if you need some help. I'm not implying that work is guaranteed, but... well, perhaps these two could be of some help to some of you."

Paul held back, a little put off by this upper-class group. John fascinated him, though. _I wonder what his story is?_

Mattie went first, eager and friendly. "I am an oracle," she declared, completely seriously. "I practice the art of Fatalism, of understanding the patterns of fate through looking at the patterns that swirl around each soul. While it is not, perhaps, the most lucrative profession, it is perhaps the most rewarding, the most personal. For who would not want to know what their future held for them, what path they must take to stay free of the shadow? Only Pardoners earn more respect, really."

"Pardoners?" Hannah asked. "I heard that before, from Father Francis. They practice Castigate, the ability to talk to the shadow, right? He's a Pardoner, isn't he?" 

Darlene snorted, "Hardly, though he fancies himself one. His skills are amateur, at best."

Hannah crossed her arms, defensive. "Well, he helped Paul. I think I might be able to do something with that – I was able to see the strength of his and Paul's shadow, and he said he thought I had the gift."

Harry interjected, bent over a little, wringing his hands. "That would be a very useful skill – everyone has to deal with their shadow, and you can charge handsomely for your services. Though, of course, many don't charge those who can't pay – and Father Francis does all his work for free. I suppose it's a matter of personal beliefs – our society needs Pardoners, but it hardly seems fair that someone so useful shouldn't get rich. And yet, there are few wealthy Pardoners, precisely because they tend to be charitable with their abilities. I suppose that profession tends to attract the selfless."

Mattie cut in. "Many an oracle will gladly give out prophesy for free if we see something interesting – it's if you bother us, ask us specific questions, that we ask for money. For instance... let's see." She peered at each of them in turn. "Ah! From your deathmarks, I can see... you both died of disease. Of the same disease. In fact... she was the one who infected you! My, but isn't that a juicy little tidbit?"

They both were taken aback by the very intimate nature of the details she's just revealed. Hannah recovered first. "I, um, I mean, we know. We worked that out already. Paul's completely okay with what happened, right Paul?" Paul nodded silently. "But that's really impressive! Uh... what are deathmarks, anyway?"

Mattie giggled at how uncomfortable they were before responding. "Oh, every wraith has marks on them describing how they died. Some are visible to everyone, and other wraiths, like you, have them hidden, maybe just as raised ares of skin or scars. But they are there, I assure you, and I can see them as clearly as though they were tattooed on you. Though, to be fair, reading deathmarks really isn't that impressive – it's the most basic thing you learn when you are taught to read the skeins of fate. But thank you. Once upon a time, you both would have been conscripted into the Skeletal Legion."

Paul responded to that comment forcefully. "The what legion? And what makes them think they can just force new spirits into military service against their will?"

Darlene interjected. "The Skeletal legion was one of the seven legions of the hierarchy. They oversaw all those who died from disease, so you would have fallen under their aegis. As for what gave them the right to-"

Harry interrupted. "Look, the Legions did what they had to. They found any souls who weren't reaped, and took them in. They explained the way the underworld worked, and gave everyone a job. You didn't have to join in military service – I certainly didn't! You just got a chance to be useful to our society, that's all. You could be a small level bureaucrat, or really, whatever you want. It beats the alternative. Everyone needs to be reaped – to be set free of their death caul. The legions do that and explain the true nature of the afterlife to the newly dead. It's certainly better than the alternative – religious cults indoctrinating Enfants in their beliefs, telling them this place is a purgatory on a stopover to another, greater heaven – or worse, pawning them off to one of the many false heavens ruled over by tyrannical fanatics. And that's a best case scenario. There are many unscrupulous slavers who would lock you in chains – and that's if they don't melt you down for an obolus, instead."

Hannah interrupted Paul's response. "That's exactly what happened to me! Some sick fucker wanted to enslave me for... he tried to chain me up as soon as I died! Thank God Paul was there to save me!"

Minnie responded. "Is that true? You came to her rescue from a slaver, despite the fact she was responsible for your death?" She peered at Paul deeply, until he became so uncomfortable that he had to reply.

Paul replied defensively, his arms crossed. "I don't care. I love her. When I realized she had died, I didn't think – I just went to her. I'd do anything for her."

Mattie smiled, looking at Paul as though he were an adorable puppy. "That's so romantic! How often does any soul have the passion to pursue his love across the afterlife? Still, if you hadn't been there, it would have been quite terrible for Hannah. Wouldn't it have been best if someone was there to care for her, if you didn't have to save her? And good thing someone was there to reap you, no?"

Paul thought back to the time right after his death, to the endless haze of confusion and reliving memories of his life. _When did it end? When did this afterlife become solid? _ It had started to seem real when Lucius had summoned him, when he had appeared in that strange circle of chalk and blood – that was his first memory of the afterlife. _I'm not about to share that with anyone but Hannah in private._ "I tore my way out of my own caul. It can't be that hard."

They were all taken aback. Mattie was the first to respond. "It is, actually. Extremely difficult... and rare. Are you...?" And she stared at Paul again, far too intently for comfort.

Harry broke the awkward silence. "You two are most unusual. So you haven't even run into a Legionnaire who tried to explain this all to you?" Paul shook his head, pretending he hadn't almost got in a fight with the last Legionnaire he had encountered. "Well, I'm glad we could, though the legionaries do a better job of it. Though, lately, the soldiers of LA have been a bit rougher in their recruiting than they were before, well..."

"Before what?" Paul asked.

John replied, speaking for the first time. "Before the fall of the Hierarchy. Before the great dead city of Stygia was destroyed in the Sixth Great Maelstrom."

A solemn silence fell over the group. John closed his eyes. Paul and Hannah didn't want to interrupt their moment. John opened his eyes and began to explain. "There is... was an ancient society of the dead. Founded by Charon – yes, that Charon, the mystical ferryman – it came to be called the Hierarchy. It's capital was Stygia, and it rested on an island in the Tempest. See, most of the Tempest is utter chaos, but there's one path that flows straight and safe, which we call the river Styx. At the end, where it lets out into a vast expanse of calm water called the Sunless sea, there was a great island, and Charon built Stygia upon it. He built it from the great relic buildings of the fallen cities of the world – the Library of Alexandria, for instance, joined Stygia after it was burned in the land of the living, and became the official library of the city. In this place, objects become real to us, become relics after they are destroyed in the land of the living, and only if they are cared about and missed. That was once the only way to make anything solid in the Shadowlands, until Charon rescued the first great forger, Nhundri, who figured out how to create weapons, armor, and bricks from souls. It was under the Hierarchy that great roads, Byways, were build across the Tempest, connecting the Necropoli – the dead presence in living cities like this one – to Stygia, keeping the lands of the dead interconnected and safe. He created the legions to patrol the Necropoli and the byways, creating areas of safety among the chaos. But as time went on, there were a series of great Maelstroms, terrible storms in the lands of the dead where Spectres rode on the winds and invaded the safe areas. These storms reflected great tragedies in the lands of the living – the fall of Rome, the Black Death... until finally, the horror of the Second World War and Holocaust brought us to the verge of another such Maelstrom. When the nuclear bombs went off in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, they literally ripped open holes in the fabric of the Shadowlands, and out climbed Garool, a great Malfean – a lord of Oblivion, commander of the Spectres. The Fifth Great Maelstrom raged across the Shadowlands, and Garool led the armies of Oblivion towards Stygia. Before the capital of the dead, the lord of the wraiths stood alone against the terrible monster. He destroyed Garool – but was himself destroyed in the process. After that, the Hierarchy was never the same. His seven Deathlords, commanders of the seven legions, worked to hold everything together, but soon turned on one another. Eventually, their hubris destroyed us all. They used a relic nuclear weapon, recovered from the remains of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, to attack the Dark Kingdom of Jade – the Eastern underworld. At least, I think that's who they attacked. Rumor has it there was another target, but we were at war with them at the time, so that makes sense to me. Anyway, the results were terrible. The Sixth great Maelstrom was let loose, and the destruction was overwhelming. The Spectres ravaged Stygia, it was revealed that one of the Deathlords had turned traitor. There are rumors... only rumors... that Charon was reborn after his fall, that he went into the body of a living human after his fall, died again right before the maelstrom, and returned to Stygia in its darkest hour to halt the hordes. But even though the Spectres were defeated in the end, it was too late. Stygia was destroyed, though the survivors able to retreat to the Necropoli, like this one. But Stygia is gone forever, and with it, the society of the dead that has stood since before the founding of Rome."

Everyone was silent for a while, staring at the ground, lost in thought. Hannah was the first to speak, eyes wide with pity. "That's... tragic. Were you there when it fell?" John looked up but said nothing. "It seems like you were. So... what's left of the Hierarchy? Is it completely destroyed?"

"For the most part," John replied, sighing, eyes going back down.

Hannah shook her head, staring off into space, finding it hard to grasp the idea of an afterlife in utter chaos. "I guess that explains why no one was there to help me when I died. Well, I mean, no one but Paul, of course. But if he hadn't come for me..." Hannah shuddered. "I guess I picked a bad time to die." She laughed nervously at herself, at the strangeness of the statement.

Mattie responded, looking at Hannah like she was an ignorant child in need of teaching. "Death comes for us all in its time. Besides, it could have been much worse."

"Yes," John added, smirking. "You could have been born in the middle of the Maelstrom, your soul reaped by one of the spirits of oblivion in the midst of the chaos of the underworld unraveling."

Darlene interjected, hands on her hips, frowning disapprovingly at John. "But the hierarchy isn't truly gone!" She turned to Hannah, her hands uncurling at her sides, her face softening. "The remnants of the legions retreated across the byways to the Necropoli, and together with the old hierarchy bureaucracy formed local governments in each necropolis. The one in LA is pretty good. They keep us safe from the Spectres, and make sure everything doesn't fall into chaos."

Mattie spoke up, "Still, there's no question that things are far more terrible and chaotic now than they have ever been. There have been reports of strange and terrible beings roaming the Shadowlands, powerful and twisted forms no one has ever seen before. Just... stay around here, if you can. It's fairly safe in LA, though the unsavory parts of town for the living have equally unsavory spirits, but even a thief is better than an oblivion-blinded Spectre.. or worse. The LA Necropolis is as good as it gets, these days."

Harry finished the discussion by adding his own bit. "Honestly, even though the official civil government has gotten a little more capacious, and the Legionnaires a little more nasty, a lot has gotten better since the fall of the Deathlords. I mean, we can all agree the guilds coming back and being an open part of society has been nothing but wonderful. Those of us with a useful trade have seen their fortunes skyrocket. Just like in the lands of the living, the entertainment and banking guilds basically run LA."

"And do you belong to either of those groups?" Paul asked.

"Yes, I'm a banker among the dead. Well, now we're called Usurers, an old name for an old guild that's new to most of us. What I do is a little more complicated than just managing money, though. See, among the dead, only corpus has physical existence here, so there's really no solid resources to invest in. Even our money is made from the corpus of condemned souls. But Pathos, the energy that drives our existence and powers our arts, is as important as Corpus. So I manage the exchange of one to another, and the exchange of Pathos and Corpus from one soul to another. So... I guess you could call me a spiritual banker."

"That's... a little strange." Hannah replied. She quickly added, "I'm sorry, I guess I'm just not used to the world of the dead."

Paul was not as interested in being polite. "How can you justify destroying souls to make money? How can you be okay with spending something that used to be human?"

John turned to Paul, staring him right in the eyes. "There is no other way to make anything solid in this world. Without weapons, without walls, we would have no society – everything would have fallen to the Spectres. Would you choose oblivion over the necessity of working with souls?"

Paul squared his feet, defensive. "I mean, I can see the need for tools and weapons, but that doesn't make this right. Can't you just... I don't know, melt down Spectres? And anyway, how can you decide who gets melted down and who gets to stay alive – or, er, dead but still, you know, aware and free?"

John shrugged. "The system is rational enough. Spectres are melted down automatically, if we can catch them. Cutting them apart simply sends them down into a Harrowing - back to the labyrinth. But Spectres alone cannot provide enough corpus for the needs of our Necropolis – our dead city. So the worst criminals, those most given unto their shadows, are also melted down. Most of those so destroyed were on the verge of becoming Spectres anyway – if left alone, or simply executed, they would join the ranks of Oblivion. By soulforging them, we keep them from making the forces of darkness any stronger – and lord knows they are strong enough, already. And finally, there are those who arrive in the world of the dead listless, passionless, existing while dead much as they did while alive – without purpose or drive. They would soon fall to the Spectres, dragged down without resistance. They may as well be melted down – at least then they can serve some kind of purpose, rather than just feeding Oblivion – just helping to destroy us all."

Paul sighed. What John said made sense, but... "Maybe if you didn't waste souls making money, and just made what you need, Spectres would be enough. And who gets to decide who is and isn't worthy of being allowed to keep existing freely, huh? You?"

John smiled in a knowing and patronizing way, slowly shaking his head. "No, I simply forge the souls sent to me. I am an Artificer. They have judges who have been doing this for a long time, often centuries. It's not a perfect system, but it's far better than the alternative. If not for the Hierarchy, we would all have fallen to Oblivion by now. I know this may be a lot to accept, but you have to understand how things work in the land of the dead, how close to complete and utter destruction we are at all times. We fight a war against Oblivion, and those who do not actively participate in that war must be prevented from weakening our efforts. There is no room for welfare, workfare, or free-lunch mentality in our noble struggle. Those who do not aid us willingly must reap the consequences of their refusal. Those who are too weak to fight for us, even for themselves, can still serve as our weapons, our tools, and our building blocks."

The absolute certainty and cold inhumanity of John's words filled Paul with a righteous indignation. It didn't help that his shadow was subtly egging him on, in a way he could barely distinguish from his own thoughts – after all, the thoughts of his Shadow were running parallel to his own. _So he thinks that his ends justify any means? That his hierarchy can make that kind of decision about the eternal fate of a soul, based on nothing more than an immediate need? He even admits that sometimes they get it wrong – how can you condemn even one soul to eternal imprisonment unless you know they absolutely deserve it? Fascist fuck!_

His mouth was open, and we was about to respond, when Darlene stopped him with a touch on the arm and the whispered words, "Let's finish this discussion another time. The cops are here."

Paul turned around, and saw two souls dressed in outfits right out of a Roman legion – the short skirt of leather straps, the chest armor, the short swords, everything – these wraiths wore the ridiculous, anachronistic outfits with expression of total seriousness on their face, like they were uniforms. Which they were.

They moved through the crowd, one with green eyes keen and suspicious, a red plume of command on his helmet, the other with brown eyes that were warily searching for threats. They marched boldly, their corpi rippling with muscles, the other ghosts backing up nervously, the living ignoring the unseen spirits. The Legionnaires ignored the living in turn, peering intently at the dead. Until one living couple caught their attention.

They stared at the couple, who were making out passionately and grinding against each other on the wall. One of the Legionnaires started muttering to the other. They placed themselves next to each of the two passionate partners. Then, as one, they drew their swords and cut through the necks of the living couple. The couple didn't notice – but dead souls fell out of the living bodies, their heads tumbling to the ground next to their corpi. The Legionnaires grabbed the souls, pulling them to their feet. They shackled their wrists to one another before picking their heads up and placing them upon their necks. Their corpi healed, but before the heads were even on they began screaming, babbling wildly, begging to be let go, insisting that they had done nothing wrong.

"Silence!" Screamed the commander, and the two ceased all noise. "You stand accused of violating the

Dictum Mortuum, of interfering in the affairs of the living. How do you answer?"

The man, naked and muscular, his body covered in spikes, answered first. "We were just skinriding, experiencing their bodily sensations. We weren't interfering at all!"

Even as he spoke, the two mortals disentangled from one another, seeming to come out of a daze. The embarrassed man apologized to the woman, who had an expression of horror and confusion on her face. She ran off, holding her face in her hands, while the man stood in mute confusion, staring at the fleeing woman.

The commander spoke again. "It seems the mortals suddenly changed their minds about their passion – as though they awoke from a dream – or possession! Not interfering at all, indeed. Come, you will be presented before a judge for your crimes. Follow us."

Horror was written on the souls' faces, but they obeyed, their actions at odds with their expressions. Paul watched them get dragged off, horrified at the totalitarianism he was witnessing. _**I thought you were a campaigner for human rights, a defender of the weak and the downtrodden. Are you just going to sit by and let this happen? Where is your spine, crusader for justice?**_

Paul had no answer for his shadow, because he knew he was being a spineless coward – that he should stand up for these unfortunate souls. _But, what can I do? I mean, they were breaking the law. What's going to happen to them? I can at least ask._ Paul struggled inside himself, but a lifetime of activism in the name of justice won over caution. He stepped forward, next to the Legionnaires and the prisoners. "Excuse me, but what law have they broken? What's going to happen to them? I"m newly dead and don't really know these things." His shadow mocked him. _**Excuse me, good masters, but I was wondering if I might inquire how you plan on torturing these innocents, if it's not too much trouble for you to tell me, good masters.**_

The Legionnaires turned to him, stern and solemn, the commander all but baring teeth at him as he shouted, "It's none of your fucking business! Out of the way, or see yourself set in chains alongside these two!"

Paul backed up, but his outrage grew, and he felt the fire of hate build within him. _**Yes, how dare you even ask a question, you pathetic peon! Know your place – beneath my heel!**_ "I, I was only curious, only trying to understand the society of the dead..." _**Oh, I'm so sorry for bothering you master, I didn't mean to upset you!**_

The soldier put a hand on his commander's shoulder, advising him, "Calm down, Baldwin. He's just an Enfant, he doesn't know any better." The soldier turned to Paul. "The Dictum Mortuum is a law, passed long ago by Charon, that says the dead can't interfere in the affairs of the living. It exists for a very practical purpose – once, the living were victims of hauntings, possessions, and all manner of miserable harassment by the dead. That couple there would have ended up having sex against their wishes because of the manipulation of this couple, who want to feel that physical passion again. We are dead – these things are lost to us, and we should not ruin the lives of the living to feel them again."

They moved on, as though the matter had been settled, as though he couldn't possibly have anything else to say. _**Of course you don't. Thank you so much for being gracious enough to explain the law to me and not just stomping me with your jackboots, Mr. Fascist Brownshirt sir!**_ "What's going to happen to them?"

The pair spun back to face Paul annoyance written on the soldier's face, outrage on the commander's. Paul noticed out of the corner of his eye that the group that had been speaking to him was quietly slipping out of their booth, moving to a less obvious location. Hannah wasn't moving away from him – quite the contrary, she was right next to him, trying to tug on his sleeve, get him to move away while smiling politely at the Legionnaires. The captain responded, malice in his voice. "They're going to be tried for their crimes. As for their punishment – I know these two, they're recidivists. So they're most likely going to be sentenced for a long period of enslavement – if the judge is feeling merciful. He might decide, like I have, that they're never going to stop harassing with the living, and will have them melted down!"

Paul blanched. _**So, three strikes and you're condemned to eternal imprisonment as an inanimate object, huh? This is way worse than anything you fought against in life! Stand up to them! Help these people!**_ "Wait, you really think they're going to be forged into, like, a sword, or a coin? Are they aware after they get melted down?"

The commander rounded on him, stomping directly up to him, getting in his face as he screamed, "The fuck does it matter, whelp? They broke the law, and now they're going to face their punishment! That's how it works! But for the record, no one knows for sure, but I've seen crying coins, heard screaming blades. I think they still know what they are, still are aware on some level. And I'm glad of it! These wastes of souls don't deserve an afterlife – or if they do deserve one, it's hell! I came to understand a long time ago that this place is some sort of purgatory, a stopover, and it tests each of us. Obey the laws or be made to suffer! It's that simple, and any disobedience means you're a supporter of Oblivion – of Hell! So, you little troublemaker, are you going to shut your mouth and let me do my job, or am I going to have to introduce you to our justice system as I drag you out of here in chains?"

Paul was shaking, half with fear, half with outrage at his treatment by this thug. _What makes him think he has the right to... to...? __**Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact that people like you are too spineless to stand up to him and do anything? **__I would be glad to fight... but I don't think I can take them. And anyway, I need to take care of Hannah. I can't risk her afterlife for my idealism. _Paul lowered his eyes and answered, "No, you're right of course, thank you for answering my questions."

The commander sneered at him, then turned around to go.

_**Spineless coward!**_ With that scream in his head, his shadow took control.

Paul watched, helpless, as his hand reached into his waist, pulled out the sword he had taken from the slaver, and cut off the head of the Legionnaire commander.


	2. Chapter 2: Emancipator

The club erupted into bedlam.

Well, half the club did, anyway. The living were oblivious to what had just happened and danced on – the dead, however, began fleeing in all directions. Some fled through the crowd toward the exits, running through the doors when they reached them. Others simply fled through the walls.

The pair Paul was trying to save from arrest were the only exceptions. They tried to run, but were stopped moments later by a shouted, "Stop!" The command came from the sergeant's disembodied head shouting from the ground, where Paul had put it.

For a moment, Paul stood in stunned silence. For a split second, he had believed that his shadow had actually triumphed over tyranny. But when he saw the Sergeant's body fumbling around, trying to find his head, he realized, _I'm fucked. _Then the other legionnaire's blade came swinging at him from his right.

Paul was stunned, but his shadow reacted quickly, moving Paul's blade up to block the incoming blow, which became another and another, all quickly stopped by Paul's shadow. Paul began screaming inside his mind. _What the hell? What the hell! You've screwed us, we're dead, oh my god oh my god..._

_**Ha! Coward! You're ready to rant and rave about justice, but when it's time to act and back up your beliefs, to save the innocent, you're just a fucking coward! Let me show you what you can do when you don't fear death!**_ Paul watched as his shadow ducked under a blow from the legionnaire and embedded Paul's blade directly in his knee.

_**Okay, Paul. Show me what you've got!**_ And then Paul was in control again.

The Legionnaire was stunned by his reckless bravery, and took a moment to register what had happened. However, Paul was frozen. He was frozen by the utter horror of someone who'd lost control of their emotions, and in a moment of passion, had given in to some dark and terrible urge, some twisted madness, and now had to come face to face with the truth of what they had done. The brain can't process it. It tries to pretend nothing had happened, or to justify the behavior somehow, but most of all, the brain just can't function coming down off an adrenaline high. In this situation, that led to hesitation which proved fatal.

The Legionnaire swung his sword down on Paul's right arm, severing it at the shoulder.

Paul felt shooting pain, and Paul screamed. _Still, It's not as bad as when I was shot while alive. Corpus isn't important. Ditch the arm! Maybe I can still get out of this suicide by cop!_ Paul turned and ran.

_**Ha! Coward! Pathetic failure!**_

Paul ignored his Shadow – he saw Hannah and his heart jumped into his throat. _Oh God, no, she can't be hurt because of me! _"Run! Hannah, get the fuck out of here!"

Hannah nodded, seeming to come out of shock, and turned to run directly toward the wall. Paul sprinted after her. _I might actually make it. Holy-_

Paul fell to the floor, screaming, as excruciating pain flew through his corpus, from head to toe, but the pain was strongest in his missing right arm. Which he could still feel. He turned around as he fell, and saw the Legionnaire he'd run from raise up his severed arm with one end of a set of shackles attached at the wrist.

"Paul!" Hannah screamed, stopping to see what was wrong. She saw him on the ground and her eyes went wide before she started to run back towards him.

"No!" Paul screamed, tears in his eyes, barely able to push past the pain to speak. "Just run! Get out of here while you can!"

Hannah shook her head, running back. "I won't leave you, Paul!" She reached him and reached down to grab his good arm and pull him up – right as the sergeant was placing his head back on his neck and healing the wound.

"Just run!" Paul screamed, desperate, as he pushed Hannah away and turned to face the Legionnaire who had shackled him. Just in time to watch him slice off his left arm, then smoothly grab it and shackle the other manacle to its wrist.

Paul didn't feel any pain any more. He tried to turn and run even as Hannah screamed, realizing he was shackled. He got three steps before the Legionnaire boomed out, "Don't move." And just like that, Paul's body stopped in its tracks, even though his arms were gone, even though mind demanded that he move. He had lost control of his body just as surely as when the shadow had taken over. That was when he fell into despair, when his stomach curled up into a tight knot that would have made him vomit if he still could. That's when he realized that his most fundamental right, his free will, was gone. That it could be taken away just like that in this place. In this hell.

Hannah stood in shock for a moment, but she realized her only hope was to run. She bolted for the wall as fast as she could, terror written on her face.

The Sergeant rushed past Paul, screaming, rage written on his face. Paul wanted to reach out, to trip him, to do anything, but he couldn't. He stood, transfixed, a helpless prisoner of his own body. He realized, after a moment, that he could still speak, since he hadn't been ordered not to. _What can I say to save her?_ "Please, leave her alone! She didn't do anything. I did, I admit to it, take me to jail or to be enslaved, but she's innocent!"

The Sergeant ignored Paul's words completely. He sprinted up to Hannah, reaching her as Paul finished speaking. He unsheathed his sword, and in one smooth motion swung his sword low as he ran past her, cutting her legs off at the knee. She faceplanted screaming. She desperately tried to push herself up, to get to her "knees," to crawl on her stumps. The Sergeant kicked her in the stomach as she tried to crawl, knocking her back on the ground and causing her to dry heave, before leaning down to smash her face in with the butt of his sword, while Paul could do nothing but stare and scream.

"Shut up!" The Legionnaire who held Paul's shackles commanded, and then Paul couldn't even scream. "God, that was annoying." But then he looked over at Hannah with pity. "Hey, Sarge, cut her a break. You got her already. Let's just shackle her and take 'em all down to the station." A twinge of New York was detectable in his accent.

Paul felt tears run down his eyes, eyes that had simply been wide with terror up until that moment. Tears of relief and bitter regret poured down his face as the brutal beating stopped. The Sergeant grabbed Hannah's wrists roughly with one hand while grabbing the shackles with the other. _And now her freedom is gone because of me, _Paul thought as Hannah was shackled. She screamed until the Sergeant commander her to, "Shut up!" Then her jaw snapped shut. He grabbed her lower legs and held them up to her stumps. "Heal yourself." Hannah looked at him, confused for a moment, but then stared down at her legs in surprise as the corpus sent out strands, connecting itself to the lost tissue, fusing back together. When the healing process was done, the Sergeant commanded her to, "Stand up, and don't go anywhere." He stepped back as she straightened, and Paul felt sick at the state Hannah was in. Her face was bruised and swollen, with one eye nearly swollen shut. She was bleeding in several placed, her lip was split wide open with teeth missing and cracked in half, blood pouring out of holes in her gums. She stood there, on trembling legs, naked except for the shackles around her waist and the shackles on her arms, utterly exposed and helpless. She stared at her shackled hands in mute shock. _Oh god, please, please no, let this be another dream, another nightmare, another harrowing..._

_**Ha! You wish, you weak failure! This time, it's real, it's permanent. You couldn't handle yourself, and now Hannah really will become a slave for eternity. And you... you'll probably be melted down to make a sword. Maybe you'll still be aware on some level! Welcome to the afterlife! Hahaha!**_

Paul wept, bitterly, silently, and Hannah began to cry, too, though she wasn't silent, and began pleading with her captors. "He didn't mean it! It was his shadow, it just took over, please..."

"Ha!" The Sergeant shouted back. "If I had an obolous for every time some renegade attacked me on patrol and tried to claim it was his shadow when I caught him..."

The Legionnaire came forward, carrying Paul's arms with the shackles slung over his shoulder. "Everyone is responsible for maintaining control of their own souls. Allowing that as an excuse would cause society to break down. And it would make it easier for those who have given in to their shadows to hide among us."

The Sergeant nodded, self satisfied. "The crimes of one's Shadow are the crimes of oneself."

"Indeed..." a soft, low voice spoke from outside the circle of legionnaires and prisoners, from inside the crowd of oblivious living people dancing, "...the sins of the Shadow are the sins of the Soul."

A hooded figure emerged from the living crowd. His face was mostly in shadow but looked to be middle aged, with a thick but well-trimmed beard appearing below a small, high and sharp nose. His eyes were in shadow. The robe was gray and simple. At the man's sides were two swords, a long one and a shortsword. He stopped in front of the Legionnaires and bowed.

The Sergeant moved directly forward to confront the man, though his attempt to loom was ruined by the fact the hooded figure was just as tall as him, at about six feet. Still, he put on his best scowl. "Who the hell are you?"

"Agent Guiterrez, internal affairs," the shade stated flatly, with a twinge of a Hispanic accent, but in perfect, clipped English. As he spoke, he drew out a carved metal plate, with a strange insignia on it. The two officers moved in for a closer look. The Legionnaire looked to his commander. The Sergeant nodded after a very careful inspection and straightened as Guiterrez put his badge away.

"You got here quick," the Sergeant muttered, eyeing Guiterrez askance.

"I was fortunate enough to be sitting in a booth in this club when the trouble started," Guiterrez replied. "I got to see everything."

"And?" the Sergeant asked, crossing his arms. "What do you have to say about our performance?"

"You did well, overall." Guiterrez turned to the two original prisoners. "I'm impressed you managed to notice these two. The Dictum Mortuum has been violated a great deal in LA recently, and the living are starting to notice. We must be vigilant. I imagine these two will be given a harsh sentence, given their recidivism." He turned calmly to Paul. "As for this one... do you really believe he's part of some Renegade plot? It seems like a case of an out of control shadow, to me. Which does not absolve him from the guilt of his crime, but it certainly changes the nature of what he will be charged with."

The Sergeant scowled, even as he chuckled. "He certainly expressed Renegade views before attacking me. I have no doubt if he's let go, he'll attack the law again. He's too dangerous to be allowed to run free. Either of them," he insisted, pointing to Hannah, staring directly into Guiterrez's eyes.

"That may be true," Guiterrez stated calmly, unperturbed by the Sergeant's hostility, "but that does not allow you to arrest a soul for simple association. From what I saw, this soul committed no crime. Which does not mean," he said, holding up a hand as the Sergeant tensed visibly, "that the law has no business with her. I will take her into questioning, and cross-examine her shadow. Then and only then will we know the truth. If they are Renegades, and violent ones at that, they will be melted down or enslaved. If, however, they are simply new souls in need of self-discipline, she will go free, and he will be sentenced to a period of probation, where we will monitor him, train him in management of his shadow, and give him some community service, a chance to be a useful part of society, to take up a trade. But I must take her and question her, to ensure that the judge has the needed information to make the correct decision." _Oh, thank god, there's hope, Hannah's going to go free! Hell, I might even get off alright! _Guiterrez held out his hand. "Please hand me the key to her shackles."

The Sergeant backed up a step. "I'm not giving you my shackles."

Guiterrez sighed. "I can assure you they will be returned to you. However, if it is that much of an issue, I have my own shackles that can be used. Simply free her and hold her and I will shackle her myself." He produced his own set of chains from within his robes.

The Sergeant tensed as he said, "She's my prisoner. You can have her after I take her into booking."

_Let her go, you fascist asshole! _Guiterrez sighed again. "For what crime? Look, there are two ways my report can be written. Either I say you have performed well, and I take this soul with me, or you resist orders from someone with authority over you. How do you want my report to read?"

The Legionnaire moved close to his commander, obviously nervous. "Look, Sarge, we got a good haul here, let's just give her up and move on, I don't think-"

"Fine!" The Sergeant barked. But then he stepped forward, right up to Agent Guiterrez, eyes narrowing as he stared him down. "First, let me see your badge again."

"Why?" Guiterrez asked, anger now in his voice.

"I just want to check something," the Sergeant replied. "If you want me to give up this prisoner, just show me your badge. I'm allowed to ask for that."

Guiterrez did nothing for a few seconds, and it seemed like the situation had become a standoff, a stare-off between the two of them. Then Guiterrez relented and pulled out his badge. The Sergeant stared intently. Guiterrez began to put the badge away again, saying, "Well, if there's nothing else-"

"There is!" the Sergeant shouted as he grabbed Guiterrez's wrist, holding the badge forcefully up to his face. "This is the old Hierarchy badge for internal investigations!"

Guiterrez pulled his wrist out of the Sergeant's grip and stepped back, putting his badge and the shackles away. "And? They are still in use in LA."

The Sergeant barked a short laugh. "Not as of two weeks ago. All the badges were changed. There were concerns. About infiltration by spies from other Necropoli Or by Renegades." That last word was a hateful curse, and as he said it the Sergeant drew his blade, stepping between Paul and his savior.

_No! Not now! This can't be happening! Why? Why would fate dangle hope in front of us, just to snatch it away! Is this hell? Is this one endless Harrowing?_

**Aw, is the afterlife too hard for you? You just can't handle anything without me! Too bad Hannah decided to put her trust in you! She's screwed!**

Guiterrez began backing away very quickly, away from the soldiers and away from Paul, his hands moving to the swords at his sides as he did so. The Sergeant began moving towards him, raising his blade as he did so. Guiterrez started running backwards as he drew his blades – backwards. The Sergeant started running at him, blade extended. Guiterrez, rather than raising his blades to block, moved them back to point behind him, even as he turned his head around and leapt backwards, towards a living man. The Sergeant laughed, sprinted, and dove after Guiterrez, blade-first.

There was no flash as Guiterrez teleported. One moment, he was leaping away from the Sergeant, who was between him and Paul. The next moment, Guiterrez was behind the Sergeant – between him and Paul.

Everything seemed to freeze for a moment in midair. It took Paul that long to realize that the hunter had become the hunted, that Guiterrez's blades were pointed to the Sergeant's exposed back, and not the other way around. The Sergeant took a second longer. He looked around in midair and caught Guiterrez in his peripheral vision right as the long blade slid into his shoulder. The Sergeant slammed into the ground and Guiterrez landed on top of him, on his back, back to back. Guiterrez's sword, in his left hand, was driving through the Sergeant's right shoulder up to the hilt, while the knife in his right hand was going through the thigh on the other side.

Everything was still for an instant.

Then the Sergeant screamed in rage and began thrashing.

Guiterrez pulled the knife out of the ground and through the Sergeant's leg with a slice, leaving half the thigh cut through.

The Legionnaire recovered from shock and drew his sword, running towards Guiterrez from behind.

Paul wanted to scream, "behind you!" but couldn't, as he had been ordered to be silent. He cried out in his mind in impotent rage.

Hannah, however, was much more active.

Paul's mouth hung open as she fell down in front of the Legionnaire, causing him to trip and fall on his face. _Holy shit! That was brave!_

_**Yeah, real impressive. Of course, if the Legionnaires win, now she's committed a crime...**_

Guiterrez moved quickly and fluidly. Twisting to his left, he ended up on all fours and crawled over to the Sergeant, putting his knife up to his right shoulder, and drew his sword out in a slicing motion as he cut with the knife. The Sergeant's arm was completely severed.

The Legionnaire got up and screamed at Hannah, "He told you not to move! How...?"

Hannah got up and stared at him with hard eyes. "He said don't go anywhere. I'm still right where I was." _God, she's smart. I wouldn't have noticed that distinction._

The Legionnaire scowled and turned back to the battle. The Sergeant had flipped over and was trying to get up. Guiterrez didn't give him the chance. He jumped on him and stabbed his knife into the Sergeant's left shoulder, pinning him. The Sergeant reached out, trying to grab Guiterrez's face. He shoved the Sergeant's hand away and put his foot on the offending arm, and then reached down and grabbed the Sergeant's keys.

The Legionnaire was running towards the confrontation. Guiterrez simply stood, stared right at the Legionnaire, and said, "Attack him."

An instant later, Hannah and the muscular ghost were rushing towards the Legionnaire. Paul felt like his heart caught in his throat, even though he no longer had a heartbeat. Fortunately for Paul's peace of mind, the muscular ghost reached the Legionnaire first.

He slammed into him and nearly knocked him down. The Legionnaire stumbled for a moment, then recovered and swung his sword low, cutting off the ghost at the knees. He fell to the ground, screaming.

Paul and the extreme hourglass figure woman were frozen, terror written on both their faces as they watched their lovers charge into battle.

Hannah charged in right after the muscular ghost was on the ground. She put her shoulder forward and tackled the Legionnaire from the left. He stepped back, his footing still firm, and swung at Hannah's head. _Oh God! _Paul screamed in his mind.

Hannah moved her hands up, blocking the blow with her chains. As they bent inward, she crossed her arms, trapping the sword in a loop of metal. Paul could have cried with relief.

Guiterrez wasn't idle. Once the Legionnaire was occupied, he turned to the Sergeant, who was trying to pull the knife out of his arm. He got on one knee and raised his sword, before swinging it down with all his strength onto the Sergeant's neck. The Sergeant screamed, but his head was still attached. Guiterrez raised his sword again, and with a final blow, the Sergeant's head rolled away from his body.

The Legionnaire struggled to pull his sword back, but Hannah had it firmly in her grasp. Growling, he punched her with his free hand, smashing in her already bruised face over and over. She stumbled back, dazed, and he pulled his sword down, drawing out of her sheathe of chains. With a scream, he raised his sword and rushed at her, swinging down at her shoulder.

The sword sliced through her flesh, leaving a gash that went down through her breast. She screamed and fell to her knees as the Legionnaire pulled his sword out, raising it for another attack. Paul felt drowned in despair. _I dragged her into this, and she fought harder than I did. Is there no justice in this world? Is she going to be dragged into a Harrowing? __**No, there is no justice, even when you fight for it. Sorry, but this world is cruel and unfair. Say goodbye to Hannah! Oh, wait, you can't!**_

But Guiterrez rushed at the Legionnaire, two swords in hand. One had belonged to the Sergeant, and his hand was still holding on to it b0elow Guiterrez's. The Legionnaire barely noticed in time, turning his upraised blade toward Guiterrez, blocking his sideways blow. Guiterrez didn't hesitate, swinging the other sword, landing a flurry of attacks. It was all the Legionnaire could do to hold him off with his one sword, moving backwards, blocking blow after blow, but he was holding his own. As he continued blocking and parrying, he reached into his belt with his left hand and pulled out an old six-shooter magnum, aimed it at Guiterrez, and fired, the sound of the shot echoing off the cavernous ceiling.

Guiterrez staggered back, a gaping hole in his chest right near his right shoulder. He grunted, then raised his left sword to block the Legionnaire's counterattack, as he threw blow after blow at him. His right arm seemed barely able to move.

_Oh fuck, no, not when we were so close, he can't lose now! _Paul desperately thought as the Sergeant rose, Guiterrez's knife in his remaining hand, and started to stumble towards his head once again.

Hannah ran towards the fight. Guiterrez glanced her way, then tossed her the sword in his slow right hand, shouting, "Catch!"

Hannah grabbed the sword out of the air and ran around the Legionnaire. He turned to try and face her, but Guiterrez flew at him, his blade a flurry of attacks that drew all the Legionnaire's attention. While he was focused on Guiterrez, Hannah moved behind the Legionnaire, carefully raised her sword, and swung it across his neck, cutting off his head. 

As the Legionnaire's head tumbled to the ground, his corpus stumbled back, dazed. Guiterrez wasted no time, swinging his sword vertically and slicing off the Legionnaire's right arm. Grabbing the severed appendage, he hacked the hand off at the wrist and held the sword and hand in his right. Then he reached down and grabbed the keys off the Legionnaire's waist, tossing them and the other set to Hannah, telling her, "Free yourself, then your partner, then everyone, and then finish him. Don't stop cutting him apart until he disappears into the ground."

Paul would have cried from joy if he could have. _It seems like a dream... or like waking up from a nightmare. I thought for sure I was gong to spend the rest of eternity in prison, or enslaved... __**Yep, you're completely safe now. I'm sure there are no other cops responding to that backup call.**_

But Paul's Shadow was forced to silence by Paul's joy as Hannah, who had just unlocked her own shackles and allowed them to fall to the ground, ran over to Paul and freed him. He fell into her arms, trembling and crying, barely able to form words. "Oh my god, thank God, I can't believe you're okay, that you're safe, thank you! I can't... I can't believe what you did there that was so brave." Paul stared into her eyes after pulling himself up, and found hers were wide and incredulous... and a bit lopsided, as her face was still partially smashed in. But she was still able to speak coherently.

"I... I just... I kept thinking about never seeing you again, and I felt like everything was going to be hell. I almost just stood there and gave up, my shadow kept telling me that things had already gone so badly, that the best thing I could do would be stand there and keep from getting in trouble, but... I've followed you this far, I'm not giving up on you. We're staying together in this afterlife, even if we have to go through hell together." Hannah pulled Paul into a deep kiss, and their passion flowed back and forth, invigorating them, and Hannah's face began to push out again, and her gaping shoulder wound began to close.

The moment was ruined by the Sergeant's disembodied head screaming. "You're all going straight to hell! This place is surrounded! You're going to spend eternity as inanimate objects, aware but unable to do anything, you stupid little-"

His words were cut off by Guiterrez's sword cutting his head in half. Small portals that looked like pits of black mud opened up under the pieces of the Sergeant's head, his various limbs, and his torso, and all his parts began to sink into the ground. Guiterrez reached down and pulled his knife out before it could sink with the torso, and a second later the Sergeant was gone, the holes vanished.

Guiterrez turned back to Hannah and Paul. "Hurry up! Send him into a Harrowing, before he heals himself!" he shouted, pointing to the Legionnaire with his sword. "You know what, never mind. I'll take care of him, you just free those two."

Hannah and Paul nodded, a little abashed. Hannah handed Paul one set of keys and they each turned to their fellow captives. Guiterrez had healed his shoulder wound completely by now, and hacked the Legionnaire's hand off at the wrist, taking his sword in his right hand, then hacked the left at the wrist, taking the old revolver. With both swords, he cut off the Legionnaire's legs and split his head in two, all while the Legionnaire looked on stoically. With his head split, he, too, sank into the ground.

Paul and Hannah freed the naked muscular man, who was cut off at the knees, and the naked extreme hourglass figure woman, who ran over to him and threw her arms around her lover, locking him into a kiss. His legs started to regrow as he gained Pathos from her affection.

Guiterrez walked over to Paul, looking him over, before handing him the Legionnaire's sword. Paul took it, saying, "Thank you so much. I don't know why you helped us, but we'd be screwed without you. Are you... one of those Renegades the Sergeant was talking about? A freedom fighter?"

Guiterrez chuckled. "I suppose you could say that. I just think of myself as a guardian of lost souls, a champion for basic human rights. You, though, need to get an ounce of self control. Do you understand how close you came to being enslaved, or melted down?"

_All too well._ Paul nodded emphatically, defending himself by saying, "It wasn't me, it was my Shadow, it just took control of me at the worst time, in the worst way!"

Guiterrez nodded. "I thought so. Still, good to know for sure I'm not helping an idiot or a madman. Your name is... Paul, correct?" Paul nodded and extended his hand, which Guiterrez shook. "Good to meet you. And while I understand your Shadow is the one that nearly destroyed both of your afterlives, you have to understand that getting your Shadow under control is the only way to get through the afterlife. It will destroy you more surely than any other enemy. After all, you can't escape it, and it knows all your secrets." Paul nodded, serious and severe, before turning to Hannah, guilt in his eyes. She smiled back at him reassuringly. Guiterrez turned to her. "Hannah, right?" She nodded and shook his hand. "Good work. That was clever. I might be in a Harrowing instead of them if not for you. I respect the courage and cleverness that must have taken." Hannah started to beam, though she was a little shy. He then turned to the other couple. "As for the two of you who started this all..."

The muscular man stood up. "Name's Jason. My wife is Clara. And... I know what we did was stupid and reckless. It's just... the afterlife is so cold, so bitterly dull, and it's so hard to keep caring,to keep having passion for existence. Felling the rush of physical pleasure again, just-"

Jason's justification was cut short by a loudspeaker blast. "This is the legion! We have the building surrounded! Come out with your hands up and you will not be melted down!"

Everyone tensed but Guiterrez, who simply snorted in derision. "Sure, you won't. Everyone, you have two choices. Surrender, or run with me. You will be fugitives and outlaws, but I can't say you'll do too well here, either. Your choice."

_How could any of us even think of staying? I barely know this guy, but I'm ready to follow him to the ends of the world. __**Well, that's a smart decision. I'm sure this will end well for you and Hannah. Though, given the mistakes you've made, its not like you really have a choice... **_Paul stepped forward in defiance of his Shadow, telling Guiterrez, "We owe you our lives. Of course we're coming with you, right Hannah?"

Hannah nodded, replying, "Not to be rude, but we don't really have a choice. Let's go!"

Guiterrez nodded. "Grab the shackles. They will be useful. Follow me."

Each of the former prisoners grabbed their chains and ran after Guiterrez, who ran behind the bar and through Venus, heading straight towards and through the door behind her. As they ran up the stairs onto the walkway again, Hannah looked down at the shackles, then looped them around herself, above the other set, the wrist links clicking into one another. A second later, she put her sword blade through one of the chain links, with the hilt holding it steady.

"That's clever," Paul commented before doing the same thing, sheathing his sword.

As they reached the end of the walkway, they saw an ominous and familiar figure blocking the way – Father Francis. _Oh shit, is trying to turn us in?_

"Father," Guiterrez shouted, "we need to escape by air."

Francis nodded, responding, "This way," before turning and leading them through the door to the back.

Paul stared, amazed. "Do you two know each other?"

Guiterrez chuckled, telling Paul, "Francis has been one of my best allies in my struggle for justice over the last decade. I see you two have met."_ Huh. I may have really misjudged Francis. I thought religious types were all about law and order._

They ran through the hallway, to the tower where Lucius had summoned them. The occult ritual laid out on the table gave Guiterrez pause, but only for a moment. Francis didn't hesitate, and fled up the stairs, to the top of the tower. And stopped.

Paul looked around. "Now what?" he asked.

Father Francis turned and smiled at Paul. "Now all of you link hands, with Guiterrez at the end of your chain. I'd advise you to pray, though I doubt you will. A shame, as I feel that only divine intervention can save you now." _I'm honestly considering it, since I have no idea how we're going to escape a building that is surrounded._ Paul looked to Hannah on his left, who was trying hard to hide her fear under steely determination. Paul took her hand and she smiled at him before taking Clara's hand and then bowing her head can closing her eyes. _Well, I've never done much praying. Maybe she can do enough for both of us. _Paul turned to look at Guiterrez on his right, and took his outstretched left hand.

A moment later, Guiterrez sliced off Father Francis's arm with the sword in his free hand.

A moment of stunned silence filled the room before Paul shouted, "Wha- what the hell? Why-"

"So," Father Francis replied calmly, interrupting Paul, "I can run back downstairs, screaming about how the evil Renegade overpowered me. I'm willing to help you, but not to be enslaved for it. I wish you all Godspeed. I pray we meet again some day." With that, he departing down the stairs.

_So do I. __**Yeah, that would be nice. Too bad there's no one to listen to prayers.**_ Paul spoke to clear his head of his Shadow's thoughts. "So, what do we do now?"

"All you do is hold on," Guiterrez replied. A small grin stretched across his normally grim face. "As for me..." Suddenly, angelic wings protruded from the back of Guiterrez's robes, sliding out of shadows, then unfolding. "...I fly us out of here. Follow me!" The chain of fugitives ran towards the stain glass window at the top of the tower. Guiterrez ran right through it, pulling Paul out into freedom. For a second, old habits from life nearly made him try and stop the violent collision with the window, before he closed his eyes and felt himself pass through, a feeling rather like the tingling from when one's arm falls asleep.

A second later Paul felt his feet fall away and he was weightless for a moment. Then with a jolt the shock from his hand held him steady. Opening his eyes, he looked up to Guiterrez gliding forward, his wings just hovering, looking for all the world like an avenging angel in his dark robe and a sword in his hand. _I may be an atheist, but I've learned angels can save tonight. __**An angel who almost lost, and could still fail.**_ A second later Paul felt a sharp jolt as Hannah fell through the window and he had to gold her weight with one hand. She was a lot lighter than he expected. _Though, I guess ghosts wouldn't weigh much, would they? I mean, I guess I'm weaker now, since I can't pick up physical objects and all, but... whatever, it makes this a lot easier. In fact, I didn't even think about the weight problem before doing this. _As Clara and Jason each fell, the weight got heavier, but still manageable – barely. _Guiterrez must be really strong to hold me, too. How'd he get that way? Can ghosts work out?_

Paul's random nervous though rambling was interrupted by a megaphone shout from below. "They're in the air! Flying units, pursue!"

"Oh, shit," Hannah muttered. Paul looked down and saw her looking behind the chain. Paul looked back and his heart sank.

Two Legionnaires were gliding with angelic, unmoving wings towards the fugitives, swords drawn. _**Ha! Looks like some demons are after you. So much for your guardian angel!**_

"Um, Guiterrez!" Paul shouted. "We have officers behind us!"

Guiterrez just sighed. "I figured. When we reach that building over there," Guiterrez instructed as he pointed with his sword to an office building whose top was coming up just ahead, "I need everyone to keep holding hands. We will run around to that raised block, where there's probably a door into the building, and where they can't see what we are doing. They'll think we either went inside or jumped to the next building, and pursue both options. But we're going to make the third choice. Get ready to land!" Jason was right over the building, and a moment later Guiterrez's wings dropped, causing them to rapidly descend while moving forward faster. Jason hit the ground and fell, his legs still weak from being cut off at the knees. Clara landed perfectly, right in front of him, still holding his hand. Hannah stumbled but kept her footing. Paul barely managed to. Guiterrez landed perfectly, and hit the ground running, dragging everyone else along with him.

Dodging around air conditioning vent equipment, they reached the raised section of the roof and bolted around it, running past a roof access door on its side. Guiterrez ran around the corner and his fugitive followed. "Huddle close to me!" he whispered urgently. The sound of boots landing on the roof echoed over to them as they moved next to Guiterrez. "I'm going to try and hide you all. I've never done 5 at once, though..."

The footsteps moved closer. Shadows seemed to creep up and envelop Jason and Clara... while Paul and Hannah were still a little exposed. "Shit!" Guiterrez whispered angrily.

The footsteps were around the corner. Voices began speaking. "They probably went inside. Let's pursue."

_That's it, no need to go around the corner..._ "Hold on," another voice added, I think I heard something up here."

_**Hahaha! Oh, you got so far, and all for nothing. Looks like this is it for you! Oh, and of course for Hannah, too!**_Paul grabbed Hannah desperately, and, having no idea what else to do, he prayed. _Please God, don't let them find us. ____Please, if you get us out of this, I'll start praying, I'll start believing, I'll do anything, just please keep Hannah and I safe!_

And like a miracle, the shadows moved over the two of them. A second later, two Legionnaires rounded the corner. They stared right at the group.. and saw nothing.

"I could have swore I heard something." the first Legionnaire said, peering around.

"C'mon, they're getting away while we waste time," the second replied. "We would have seen them flee through the air. They have to be inside. C'mon." They turned around and left.

_Oh my God, we're still free. _Everyone burst out laughing in relief, Hannah clinging to Paul. Paul turned to Guiterrez, almost delirious from the emotional roller coaster. "Th- thanks, man. You saved us. Even if it was last minute."

Guiterrez looked at Paul strangely, kind of confused. "That wasn't me. You don't know Argos?"

Paul shook his head, stunned. "I don't even know what that is." _So that wasn't Guiterrez? Then... then it must be... I mean, maybe I did it, but... I guess a 'Thank God' is in order, then..._

Guiterrez snapped them back to attention. "There will be more Legionnaires. We aren't safe here. We aren't safe anywhere in the city. There's only one way out."

"You've got us this far," Paul replied. "What's the plan?"

Guiterrez looked grim even for him, and thoroughly determined. "We jump straight off this building, and into a gateway I make that takes us into the Tempest."

Jason went bug-eyed. "Are you out of your mind? We'll be dragged down to Oblivion by Spectres!"

"We can fly most of the way there. I will do all I can to keep you safe. You can always stay here and take your chances if you want."

Clara was shaking. "This is it. We can't ever come back to LA, can we?"

Guiterrez shook his head. "Probably not. Are you all ready?"

_I... can't come back here. All my hopes and plans for having this club be my haunt are gone. Not to mention the fact that I'm going to be useless to Lucius. Fuck, I've ruined everything, haven't I? _Paul snapped to and nodded his head along with everyone else. "Okay. Follow me. Quickly!" Guiterrez shouted as the sound of alarmed voices and boots erupted from around the corner. Paul didn't look. He ran straight ahead, jumping off the roof after Guiterrez, who flew straight down, head first. Guiterrez pointed of his sword at the ground, and a huge, dark portal opened directly below them, a second before they fell straight through it into the Tempest.


	3. Chapter 3: Driven like the Snow

Hannah felt herself being sucked downs a long, sticky tube, slowly pushed downward head first, like she was being born into darkness.

Her nakedness made it especially disgusting. She felt thick oil all around her, pressing into every inch, into her eyes and her mouth as she was forcibly moved forward. It would have choked her if she still needed to breathe.

For just about the thousandth time since dying, she felt her chest clench in terror, felt every dead nerve try to scream in tension. She wanted to try and wipe off whatever filth was covering her, but it was everywhere, covering everything. She felt the urge to crawl, to scream and spasm rise up inside her, and she knew if she gave in she would soon be writing endlessly, and soon screaming at the top of her lungs in terror.

So she did what she did every time she was overwhelmed. She shut down. It was a very effective defense mechanism. The ability of her mind to go completely emotionally dead had proven effective several times in life, especially once she started her latest line of work. Often, shutting down and just laying there until things were over had proven the only way to get through each day.

Since dying, though, she'd been through emotional whiplash. When she was slipping away from the horror and indignity of life, when she had hoped for rest, the horror of what awaited her in death had caused panic to set in, and she had desperately flailed and struggled – only for her to come to the same bitter realization she had many times in life. That there was nothing she could do.

The fact it was bitterly unfair, that even the afterlife was full of the horrible exploitation that had defined life, was full of a horrifically amplified version of it, had caused her to struggle more intensely than she had any time in her life. Only to find herself more helpless than at any time in her life. Her desperate thrashing fear had given way to bitter resigned apathy, as she decided to simply accept whatever happened to her and give up on the idea she had any control over her situation – a voice in her head was telling her that, and it seemed reasonable enough. And right as she had come to finally accept her fate, Paul had showed up, literally out of nowhere. And then the roller-coaster pulled out of its dive and began to soar towards the heavens. Of course, her shadow had continued to remind her that her fate was out of her hands, that it could just as easily turn around and plummet, but she had been so overjoyed at the idea that in this afterlife, she could have true love at last, that she was safe with Paul...

When it all went to shit, she'd been ready to just stand there, to accept whatever fate this horrible system had ready for her... after all, it's not like she'd ever really had a choice, she'd just been dragged along for the ride and now here she was, in chains yet again. And yet... that was what her shadow was saying. And she'd always imagined herself as a trooper, as someone who could push through whatever life threw at her without giving up, even if she often just sat there and settled for whatever came at her. And she'd given Paul her word she would fight her shadow and help him keep on trying.

In the end, her decision to fall and stop the Legionnaire had been motivated mostly by fear of losing Paul, the terror of that possibility overwhelming her apathy. He was all she had to cling to – and so she held on to his hand, the only anchor she had in the dark, twisted tunnel she was moving through.

She suddenly felt her hand exit the warm disgusting tunnel, being exposed to a bitter cold wind. A moment later her face was exposed, and she could see once again. Barely. There was nothing but blackness all around her, except for the two figures in front of her, which were dully illuminated from behind her, from the tunnel. But she could see enough to set her heart at ease - she could see Paul ahead of her, dangling face-down, his feet still stuck in the tunnel next to her. Guiterrez hung right side up ahead of him. Paul turned his head back and smiled at her, gushing out, "We made it through. We're safe here!"

Hannah smiled back, but she couldn't help but think, _Where's here?_

And then that voice of despair and doubt within her piped up. _**Some unknown horror.**_

Hannah shook her head. _That's hyperbolic. Neither of us has any idea what is in this place._

Her shadow seemed to smile within her. _**Oh, of course, this could be wonderful, it's just... the afterlife has been pretty terrible so far, so it would be pretty incredible if this place of darkness, named the Tempest, were to be some serene paradise. But still, you could be right. Who knows?**_ Hannah couldn't help but bitterly laugh at that absurd possibility.

Paul's legs came out of the tunnel, and he swung down, crying in surprise. Hannah was exposed out to her waist, and sharp cold wind cut through her. She shivered in fear and cold. She tried to peer out into the world, but there was nothing but darkness – the world may as well be nothing but the three of them, all held by her precarious grip. Only moments later, her feet were expelled out of the slimy, organic orifice and she swung wildly, screaming as she lost her grip on Clara's hand and went plummeting into free-fall into the unknown darkness.

_Oh fuck, I can't believe I just... I'm such a fuckup! We're all dead, aren't we? __**Yes, but that happened already. What you meant to say is that you're screwed.**_ Hannah stared up at Clara, who was staring down in horror, light shining around her from the tunnel. As they fell away, the light shrank to a small ring, until the darkness in the center disappeared, becoming a solid but dim orb. As they fell further, the light shrank into a point, and Hannah noticed other points of light shining in the darkness like stars, far more numerous than in the land of the living, providing the only light in this place.

Hannah felt sick. She felt herself begin to hyperventilate, to start shaking uncontrollably. _I can't believe I was so weak! What's going to happen to us now? What is this place? _Strangely enough, her shadow comforted her. _**It's not your fault. Just hang on harder next time. Like when Guiterrez spreads his wings. See, you're still okay, just don't let go of Paul! Oh man, that would be bad, you'd definitely be screwed if you fell into that hell below. I just feel bad for Clara and Jason. God only knows what will happen to them...**_

Hannah's heart sank even as her body jolted upwards, suddenly pulled up by Paul's arm, while he himself held on to Guiterrez's free hand, as he extended his wings and suddenly stopped his fall. He didn't rise through the air like someone would when pulling out of a dive, he just starting gliding forward through the dim darkness on pure white angelic wings. Right as she began to feel a sense of relief at realizing that she would float safely above what appeared to be writhing dark chaos below them, now illuminated by the many stars, she saw two large, connected figures fly down below into the chaos. She couldn't help herself – she shuddered at the thought of being lost in whatever chaos lay below. "What's going to happen to them? What's down there?"

There was deafening silence for a few moments, only for their ears to be filled by the high-pitched sound of the wind whipping wildly around them, first left, then right, only to calm down for bit, then pick back up again with intense force. Rain began blasting sideways at them, blasted by gale-force winds, only to stop when the wind did. Through it all, Guiterrez glided smoothly through the air, unaffected by the whipping winds. A minute later, the winds stopped for awhile, and Guiterrez responded. "I can't say. They are lost in the Tempest. As for what the Tempest is... that's sort of impossible to answer. No one knows for sure what can be found in the Tempest at any time – by definition, it's chaotic and unstable. Most of the time it's an ocean being whipped up by a storm, chaotic and unstable. But in other places, at other times, it's a desert in a storm, a putrid swamp covered in fog. Only one thing is certain – nothing is certain. There is no fixed geography, no landmarks, just the endlessly shifting terrain."

Hannah felt guilt tie her stomach into knots. _I didn't mean to, I just, it was so sudden, I was lost in thought and I... Oh god, they're doomed, and it's all my fault! __**Now now, I'm sure they'll understand it wasn't your fault... if you ever see them again. **_"There has to be some way to navigate through here, I mean... how do you know where you're going?"

"Argos. It's a special Arcanos. Given how scared of entering the Tempest those two were, I doubt they possess it." was all Guiterrez responded, before wild winds whipped up and dark clouds appeared overhead so quickly that it seemed the sky had gone out, and heavy rain started to pour down like a faucet had been turned on. Hannah felt her heart sink down with the rain, as though a lead weight were sapping her will to care. _So they're lost. In a place where they can never find their way. I'm never going to see them again. Paul and I screwed ourselves to save them, and now they're doomed worse than if we had just done nothing. And it's all my fault. Why couldn't I just hang on? __**Don't be so hard on yourself. You're just weak. You need to accept that – you can't be counted on to do that much. If you just tell Paul and everyone around you that up front, and don't ever take on any responsibilities, this won't ever happen again.**_

Paul shouted through the sound of the pouring rain, which had let up from a deluge to a mere downpour. "You asked earlier if I knew Argos. Why? What is it, exactly?"

Hannah listened intently, glad for a distraction. "Argos is a discipline developed to help wraiths move through the Tempest safely. The most basic ability of the discipline is the ability to hide oneself from danger – useful anywhere, but especially here. I tried to hide all of you in shadow, but five people is quite a bit. And then, shadow rose out of you, hiding you and Hannah."

"I... I don't know how I did it. I just wanted to be hidden so badly. I did it once before, hiding Hannah from Legionnaires..." _What's he talking about? Is he lying? Why? __**Maybe he's unstable. You did always wonder if he was crazy, the way he kept diving into danger in the name of social justice. And look where it's got you...**_ Paul turned to Hannah, looking abashed, "...I mean, it wasn't really you, it was in a Harrowing... " _Oh thank god, he's not a lunatic. I should stop listening to my Shadow, she's getting under my skin._

Guiterrez chuckled as the rain let up to a drizzle, and holes appeared in the clouds, allowing starlight to filter down. "Fear and desperation often brings out talents we had no idea we had, and it seems you have a natural talent for Argos. Which is very useful for you. Everyone needs to navigate the Tempest at one point or another. Argos lets you dive into here whenever you need to, like we just did to escape the Legionnaires. It also lets you navigate in this place. You just have an innate sense of where you need to go. Eventually, you'll be able to fly – well more like glide. Still, makes traveling in this place a lot smoother."

_First good news in awhile. _"Then you really will be my guardian angel," Hannah told Paul, though she was immediately embarrassed at the corny line afterwards.

Paul turned back to her and smiled, though. _**Of course, he'd smile at anything you did. He's blindly in love with you.**_ "I'll certainly try," Paul replied. He turned back to Guiterrez. "Can you teach me? Like, how do you know what way to go? And where are we going, if there are no set landmarks?"

The wind started whipping around wildly, nearly drowning out Guiterrez's words. He shouted over the screaming of the air. "While it still existed, the Hierarchy built roads, called byways across the Tempest. Their capitol, Stygia, is within this place, and they built the roads to connect their capitol to each necropolis port – gateways that allow one out of this place, back into the Shadowlands, in the middle of the dead reflection of a city. We're heading towards the byway that connects Stygia to LA. The byways and Necropoli are the only stable and safe places here – we can walk once we get there."

The wind calmed as Hannah realized they were safe. _**Yep, you and Paul are completely set. If only Clara and Jason were so lucky...**_

Hannah felt tears flow down her face as a light drizzle began. She quietly murmured, "I wonder what's going to happen to them?"

"To who?" Guiterrez asked, looking down. "Jason and Clara?" Hannah nodded mutely. "I can't say for sure. The currents here are sometimes strong, sometimes nonexistent. If they stay afloat and keep swimming, they might reach the byway. Maybe not this one, though it is the closest, but one somewhere. Of course, if they can't keep up their hope, their Pathos... if they get pulled under..."

"What?" Hannah asked desperately, hoping there was still hope for them. "What's at the bottom of the Tempest?"

"No one knows for sure. There may not even be a floor to this ocean," Guiterrez replied. "But what we do know, is that if you go deep enough, a powerful undercurrent pulls everyone toward one direction." The sky darkened and a bolt of lighting cut through the black, illuminating the dark sea below, which seemed to be fathomless in its depth. An instant later the darkness returned like a blanket, and a moment later deafening thunder crashed through the silence. "The Sea of Shadows, made up of melted masses of Spectres, who viciously capture any unwary souls caught in it. If you still have a strong will to live, its said the Spectres will fight to keep you away, and you can fight your way to the surface and get away. But if you lack passion and Pathos, if your Shadow is strong, they pull you deeper and deeper inside, until you are in the Labyrinth."

The sky was pitch black, but no rain fell, no wind blew. The silence stretched on painfully, until Hannah asked, her voice barely a squeak, "What's the Labyrinth?"

Great gusts of wind whipped past their hair, and the waves below rose in great crashes. Black clouds flew up from below in small parts, seeming like swarms of insects ascending from the pit, bursts of small lighting illuminating the disturbing scene. Guiterrez shouted over the rising crescendo. "The heart of darkness. The home of the Spectres, where wraiths like us are tormented until they give in to their shadows. They swarm out of the depths into the tempest to attack and capture the unwary. You mentioned being in a Harrowing. When our corpus is destroyed, that doesn't mean a soul dies. You are instantly dragged down into the Labyrinth by the force of Oblivion. In the Labyrinth, reality is remade according to the whims of the Spectres. They create a false, dark reality around you, in order to make you live through your worst nightmares, in order to destroy your hope. Same thing when you lose a fetter, like your girlfriend, Hannah, or if you give up on your Passions and let your emotions atrophy. That's the only way to truly die here – to lose all hope, all reason to keep on going. You can be cut apart a thousand times, and if your will is strong, you will always come back. Conversely, you can be a coward and avoid all physical danger, but if you have no real willpower, no reason to be here – it's just a matter of when, not if, you fall to the darkness."

Hannah shuddered. _I had so little reason to keep on going in life. I just drifted from night to night, from client to client. I could endure anything, sure – by tuning out and just letting life happen to me. Now I have to actively struggle against this... this depressive weight. I can almost feel it pulling me down, into the depths below. What am I going to do? How am I going to keep from falling when just sitting back and letting life happen will lead me down into this darkness? My whole afterlife has been nothing but one big descent, with me stumbling helplessly from one disaster to another._

_**To be fair, you didn't stumble so much as you were pulled. Paul... he's strong, and bold, and can handle himself – he has a sense of purpose. But you always hid how weak and depressed you were from him – he doesn't understand! He means well, but you kept him in the dark. That rigid society topside – it's there for souls like us, who can't fight this fight, who need a strong society to give them a place and a reason to exist, even if it's just doing a job and buying nicer stuff. Without that... well, you're right about our afterlife. There was hope before, but now... You may as well just start accepting it now. Let go. No need to be a burden.**_

_I... nice try. God, I have to watch what I think now! This is going to drive me insane! But in any case, it's not like Paul wouldn't dive right after me. I can't do that to him. Still... God, I can't help but wonder if you have a point... if he weren't here..._

The rain steadily increased, until it poured down like a faucet. Lighting split the sky once again, and a swarm of black spots could be clearly seen rising up from the ocean. In that moment, she saw that Guiterrez was tense, worry written on his face. Darkness covered everything an instant later, the stars blotted out by the clouds. He looked down at her and Paul, and warned them, "Try and control your emotions. This place... it's not solid like the world you are used to, or the Shadowlands Here, our external environment is largely a reflection of our inner feelings, external conflict mirrors inner, and you can often inadvertently bring trouble on yourself if you let your mind run away from itself. Stay calm, and we'll be fine."

_**Oh, well that's simple enough. After all, you've always been great at keeping your crippling anxiety under control, right? I mean, you could go dead and jump inside your head easily enough, just go on autopilot, but keeping your thoughts calm? Oh, there's that out of control cycle of anxiety, I feel it starting already! Hehehe! You're getting anxious about being anxious, and now it's pulling you apart, pulling your mind along on a roller-coaster ride and you have no control. Sure you don't just want to let go? You're just going to bring pain on these two. May as well just face it alone, not be a burden.**_

_There has got to be some way to stop this, some way to get my self calm, oh god, I can't help myself, I can feel a panic attack coming on, okay, okay, breathe slowly..._ Except she couldn't control breath she didn't take. But her shadow laughed as hyperventilation started anyway, as a nonexistent heart started pounding, though maybe it was all in her mind, but soon she felt light headed and her vision went dark, and she felt like she was dying. The fact none of it made sense made it all worse. Her mind went wild, imagining every possible horror that her mind could summon, driven mad by the knowledge that her fear could create these scenarios which made her afraid and...

Lightning broke right in front of Hannah, and Guiterrez stopped short. Coming towards them, from the left and right, were two Spectres. One looked almost human, just gaunt to the point of appearing skeletal, skin stretched tight over its face, its mouth pulled back in a terrible grimace, its eyes sunken into deep pits, its skeletal hands holding two swords, and it flew towards them on wings with dark feathers, like an angel of death. The other one was a monster. It had dark leathery wings, its face were twisted into a giant screaming maw with rows upon rows of teeth, eyes bulging out of the side of its face, which was covered all over in small horns. It had two sets of arms – the upper set ended in long blades the length of short swords, the lower ended in hands. They were each surrounded by a dark aura, a rank smell, a sense of corruption. They both screamed, and a sound of bitter despair broke through the night, causing Hannah's heart to sink, as despair crept into her mind. They flew towards Guiterrez with terrible speed. And Hannah realized they were doomed.

The skeletal angel of death reached him first. Guiterrez drew his second blade and met him skillfully. The skeleton was slow, and Guiterrez quickly countered both attacks before hacking off an arm. But the other Spectre wasn't idle. It ignored Guiterrez completely, focusing on Paul below. It swung with its sword-arm and severed Guiterrez's hand at the wrist, the one holding on to Paul, sending the two of them falling below into the depths.

Hannah screamed as she flew through the frigid air, racing the raindrops. The monster wasn't done with them, though. He dived after them, his face twisted into a hateful smile as he cackled wildly. Paul let go of Guiterrez's severed hand and fumbled at his belt to pull out his sword. Hannah was frozen, unable to think a thing, except for, _My shadow was right. It's all just downhill until I reach the Labyrinth..._ Her shadow had nothing to say, it simply laughed at her in her mind. Paul pulled his sword out just in time to deflect a blow aimed at his head. The Spectre reached out with two hands to grab him even as it continued attacking with one of its sword hands. Paul struggled, screaming in rage – impotent rage, it turned out. The Spectre grinned at him even as it crawled lower on Paul, only to swing its free sword arm low, cutting Paul's other hand off at the wrist, and then shoving Hannah away from Paul with a free hand.

Hannah watched helplessly as she drifted away from Paul. Paul stared at her as she drifted away, terror and rage written on his face – but only for a moment, before he was forced to block another blow by the Spectre. It was all he could do to defend himself as he fell. The Spectre focused its full attention on Paul, thrashing at him with all both swords, grabbing at him with both hands. Paul thrashed and struggled to free himself, to defend himself, to somehow fight back. Hannah watched the two of them drift away, becoming smaller and smaller as her hope faded away.

_No one can save me. It's over. This is how my afterlife ends, isn't it? Oh god, I'm fucking screwed, and so is Paul, and there's nothing-_ her dark thoughts were interrupted by a sharp crack as she smacked into the water, every nerve screaming in pain from the impact even as she plunged below into the depth.

She had been freezing before, but this was pure frozen agony. The cold seeped into her bones, that deep cold that feels like burning. She tried to struggle to the surface, panicking as her lungs filled with the icy cold water, panicking as her efforts proved pointless, as she sank down helplessly. The cold pushed all energy out of her, and her efforts slowed, as did her panic. Her bitter desperation gave way to depressive apathy, and her shadow comforted her. _**It's all going to be okay. Everything will be over soon. Oblivion... it's the end of all your struggles. You can simply not be any more. I mean... did you really even want to keep existing after death? You wanted peace. You were promised a paradise, but really, given your internal problems, your struggles in your own mind – how could you ever be happy? This is so much easier, isn't it? You don't even have to do anything. Just let yourself drift down. I mean, it's not like you could do anything. You tried. You struggled as hard as you could, and still, down you go. It's inevitable. So just let go. Just drift down. And soon, all these problems will be gone. Every problem will be gone. You simply won't be. Embrace Oblivion. It's the only peace you'll ever know.**_

And for a minute or so, her Shadow's words made perfect sense to Hannah. _After all, what is the point? I've tried as hard as I can. I really did. I'm sorry Paul, but there's nothing I can do. It's so much easier this way, anyway. What are we even fighting for, anyway? Freedom? I want freedom from this hell – from this struggle. I just... I can't keep doing this._

Hannah noticed shapes moving around her. There was next to no light – but her eyes were adjusting, and she could see the vague shapes of sharks moving through the ocean. Hannah felt panic rising to overcome her apathy, as the thought of being torn apart frightened her on a primal level – what with drowning and sinking being so calm and easy – and struggled to pull her sword out.

Her Shadow laughed at her efforts. _**What do you think that's going to do? It doesn't matter anyway – they want you to drift down to the Sea of Shadows – they won't hurt you if you just let it happen. Not that you could fight them, even if you wanted to – don't you understand by now? It doesn't really matter what you do – everything leads to the same place in the end. You may as well just accept it.**_

And Hannah nearly lost her mind in the comfort of nihilism. _Well – I can't say I'm happy about it, but what can I do? I was hoping to spend eternity with Paul, but... well, that's just such a romantic fantasy. I knew that was absurd in life. Why should it be any different in the afterlife? I mean, I know Paul always said it only wouldn't work because I wouldn't believe in it, and that I had hoped dreams could come true after death, but c'mon, look at the world around us. I just... I just need to accept that this is the way of the world, both living and dead..._ And yet, some small part of her mind couldn't accept that this all there was. A small part of her mind that had led her to running off to LA, chasing her dreams. That corner of her mind that remembered her grandmother, the woman who had raised her, telling her she had a beautiful soul, that she deserved to be loved, that she shouldn't settle for anything but a man who truly cared for her, and that she should hang on to him for eternity. _What... what if she's still here, waiting for me? What about Paul? He'll be miserable forever if I leave! It's not like he'd ever give up – he'd look for me for eternity. I have to... I have to... _And so Hannah began to desperately struggle again, trying to swim up. Only to have the shark-looking dark shadow move towards her. _Is this it? If I won't fall down, will they drag me? _Hannah felt a bitter sort of defiance build up insider her – _Damn it, if I"m going to go to Oblivion, it'll be my decision! _

_**That's cute. Do you really think you ever had a choice, in life or death? You never got what you wanted, your life was just a spiral down from bad to worse. Your dreams of being a scriptwriter fell apart as you started acting, then modeling, then whoring, then being kidnapped and enslaved, then living the rest of your life in fear until a death that made your worst fears seem like a happy dream, and right as it seemed like things might make sense here, you fell into the Tempest. Your whole existence has gone in one direction – down. It's where everything goes. Don't you get it? Well, it doesn't matter, does it? Struggle if you want. It will do about as much good as it always has.**_

Hannah felt the anxiety start to build up again, felt herself going crazy with worry that her Shadow was right, that she was hopeless. And as she tried to swim, she found herself floating further and further down. The shark swam towards her. Desperate, she realized that she was going to be dragged down no matter what she did. _No! There has to be something I can do! I always refused to believe in fatalism, my Grandmother always said we each chose our own fate, and... there has to be..._ A clear thought cut through the panic. Hannah fumbled at her chain belt to remove the sword from it. She pulled it clear right as she shark-shape came close enough that she could start to make out a few details, despite the fact that it was nearly pitch black under the water – the dead have heightened senses. She saw that it wasn't really a shark, but a human warped to look like a shark, its jaw extended, rows of teeth added, its arms folded up into fins on the sides, legs merged into a tail, but there was no mistake – this animal had once been human, and was no longer.

Her mind broke at the sight, and at the terror of what he would do to her. Paralyzed, she told herself, _Move! You have to! Or you're dead! Again! __**Yes, but that's as inevitable as your first death, don't you understand?**_ In the end, her raw terror overcame her paralysis as she swung wildly the creature. Had she been a moment too late, the Spectre would have bitten her in half – but instead, her sword slashed through its mouth, splitting it apart from the inside. She kept swinging wildly, and soon the thrashing creature was oozing sticky ectoplasm, muddying the waters into pure darkness. For a second, Hannah was blind. She thrashed wildly all around her, terrified that the creature could be attacking her from anywhere, expecting to feel herself ripped apart at any moment. When the cloud of ichor cleared, however, she could see the thrashing shape falling lower, and the lower it fell, the faster a deep undercurrent pulled it away. She laughed in relief, realizing she was safe. _**That's cute. Safe. Until you fall into that undercurrent. I imagine that Spectre won't be too happy when you meet up in the Labyrinth. After all, it was just trying to help you, to guide you to your final destination. You're the one making things hard.**_

Hannah felt the weight of inevitability drag her down, and she desperately wanted to be free of fate. But her weight was too much – the sword seemed so heavy she could barely lift it. And then a thought occurred to her. And she let go of her weapon and felt the weight drop away, felt hope return to her. She started swimming with all her strength, with a desperate determination. _I have to try and find Paul. After everything he's done for me, I can't just leave him to spend eternity in a hopeless search. __**Is that all you exist for? Him? **__Love is far from the worst reason to keep going. Some would say it's the best. So for now, yes, and I don't have a problem with that. In fact, knowing what really gives me hope keeps me strong. You can't ever take that from me._

Hannah burst through the surface, only to have a huge wave crash over her head. A second later she was on top again, and looked around. A bitter wind froze her and screamed through her ears. The powerful wind had whipped the waves into a wild chaos, and rain blasted down in sheets across the chaos. She could barely see or hear anything – it was strange, but the dark depths had been clearer and less agonizingly cold, as the sheets of rain and the wild waves obscured everything around her and the wind highlighted the freezing cold into sharp relief. _**Well, what's your plan now? This should be interesting. I wonder how long it will be until you give up and accept the inevitable. Don't worry, I won't be obnoxious and say 'I told you so.'**_

Hannah's mind blanked, and all she could think of to do was shout, "Paul! Help! It's Hannah! Help me!"

_**Hahaha! I don't think he could hear you if he was five feet away! Oh, please continue, this damsel in distress act is amusing.**_

Tears started running down her face, and she started swimming. She had no direction in mind, but she just wanted to move, to do something, to feel like she was making a difference. Every other second another wave engulfed her, and she felt herself pushed under, and every time she struggled to surface again. Every time she surfaced, she screamed Paul's name again and then started to swim. Over and over she continued the struggle, becoming more and more desperate, realizing that she would never find him. _Maybe... maybe if I could see better..._ And so, as she was on the verge of giving up from physical and emotional exhaustion, which were much the same thing in the afterlife, Hannah struggled to climb the watery mountain that was the next oncoming wave. Every fiber of her being went into the strain, fought the bitter, cold belief that it was all completely pointless. As she reached the crest, she realized that the rain had slowed – and that she could still see nothing but darkness in all directions. She started to sink into the water, even as tears clouded her eyes. She pushed herself up with one desperate push of her arms – and in that moment lighting split the sky.

The light came from behind her, but even so, the sudden illumination was nearly blinding. But ahead of her, incredibly distant, maybe half a mile away, was a small figure, a person on a boat, floating on the crest of a wave.

The image faded an instant later, but her hope had been restored. The Shadow would have none of it, of course. _**It could be anything. The odds of Paul being there are nil. But go ahead, waste your time. You just won't learn, will you? Has anything that happened so far given you hope?**_

_Yes. Paul showed up when I had nothing else. He's my hope. _And with that thought, Hannah began treading water furiously. At first, the hope and activity warmed her, but as she labored for what seemed like hours – it may have been, time seemed to stretch on forever – the bitterness of cold cut harshly every time she lifted her arms out of the water, even as her arms were on fire from the agony of endless exertion, even as they felt like lead. She had no idea if she was still going the right way, if she'd gone in a straight line, if she'd overshot her goal. She didn't care. She just had to keep going, one way or the other. _**That makes sense. Swim until your arms fall off. I might just have to say 'I told you so' after all when you fall into the depths.**_

Hannah finally reached the point she could move no more. It took all her strength just to stay afloat. She felt apathy overwhelm her again. _There's no way I can do this. Even if that was him, there's no way in hell I can-_

A burst of wind drove a wave into the side of her face, knocking Hannah over. She almost let herself float down again, but she pushed back up with a downward thrust of her burning arm muscles. As her head burst the surface, she realized that the pouring rain, which had been coming down in sheets for hours, had stopped. And the clouds were being driven like snow before the wind. She could see the stars – _there's light! _She looked around, peering carefully at every wave, trying to find Paul, or really anything at all. It seemed to be nothing but rolling waves in all directions, but she told herself _the waves are really high, he could be behind any of them, and in any direction, I need to keep-_

Her dead heart seemed to leap into her throat as she caught a brief glimpse of a figure behind a towering wave. That was all she needed to restore her willpower – she started swimming again, the burning in her arms be damned. She pushed past the point of total exhaustion, pushed past any physical limit her mortal body could have endured – in this place hope was enough to sustain a soul eternally. Every so often she struggled to ascend the crest of a wave, took her bearings amid the shifting peaks and valleys of the ocean around her, found her target again, and zeroed in. She often found she'd changed direction since she'd last oriented herself, and had to readjust a few times. But each time, the figure was larger and larger, and soon she could see it on the crest of a wave only a few wavelengths away.

She pushed herself forward, arm over arm, her mind flashing back to her time on the middle school swim team. She was so single-mindedly focused on reaching her goal that she almost failed to notice the shark-Spectres circling around the boat. By the time she did notice, she was almost on top of them. She stopped dead in the water. Which, she realized, was exactly what she was if they caught her.

They hadn't noticed her yet. _I need to find a way between them. I need to time when I start swimming. I need... __**To turn around, because they are going to tear you to ribbons. You realize the odds of this even being Paul are next to nothing, right? Hell, he could even be some Spectre sent to trick you. Oh man, that would take the cake! I hope they are being that clever.**_

Hannah drowned out the negative voice in her head and waited until one of the shark-Spectres was right in front of her, then swam forward furiously, kicking and paddling as fast as she could. Fear and hope propelled her in equal measure. She didn't look to see if they noticed her – her eyes were on only one thing, her target. Which she could now see was an old aluminum rowboat. She remembered her time spent at her uncle's beach house, before he'd died and the place had been sold – back in middle school, when she'd been such a little dolphin, as her grandma had called her. Before her uncle's death had taken the ocean from her, and she'd lost the heart to keep swimming.

"Always get on the end of the boat, otherwise you'll tip it over. Make sure not to rock the boat once you're in. No sense in being disruptive unless you have to. Life is full of enough problems without making more." And she'd turned to her uncle with a knowing smile, and he'd chuckled back at her. She hadn't gotten the joke at the time, but she learned the lesson well enough. Unlike Paul, she'd tried to avoid rocking the boat most of her life.

And so she veered to the right, as she was headed for the side – not directly but from a diagonal angle. She didn't have to veer too far, but it still made her terrified – every extra second in the water was another second for the shark-Spectres to find her and catch up to her – she knew that it didn't matter how fast she swam, they could swim faster.

She reached the boat and grabbed the end. She was on the verge of exhaustion, but she absolutely would not give up now – her anxiety and terror were aiding her hope and fighting her apathy now. She pulled herself up with all her might. Her head and shoulders cleared the edge of the boat. She reached out with one hand to grab the seat ahead of her and pull herself forward. As soon as she grabbed it, a figure ahead of her rose up – and lifted a sword.

"Get off my boat!" the figure screamed as it advanced forward. She couldn't make out any details – only that the figure was humanoid and missing an arm, the rest was obscured. The stars were covered with clouds, which were blowing back in as fast as they'd blown out, and a light rain was starting to fall.

Hannah felt despair overwhelm her, and she suddenly felt too weak to pull herself up. _**Told you it wasn't Paul. May as well just let go. It will hurt less this way.**_ But Hannah couldn't believe that it was that unfair. She made one desperate call out to her lover. "Paul? Is that you?"

The figure was almost on her, sword raised, but stopped dead in its tracks. It moved its head forward to peer carefully at her. "Hannah?" he asked.

A moment later, two things happened at once. Lightning split the sky, illuminating Paul, his left shoulder a mess of gore, clearly hacked off, his eyes sunken and desperate – but hope spilled out of them. In that same instant, Hannah felt jaws close around her thigh, felt agonizing pain shoot up, and felt herself pulled backwards with terrible force.

"Help me!" Hannah screamed as soon as the instant of light passed. She was completely blind after the bright illumination. The sudden jolt of force made her right arm feel like it was being ripped out of its socket, and she lost her grip on the seat. She almost fell out of the boat, but she was holding on to the edge with her left hand, and grabbed on with her right before she could slip completely into the sea. She looked back, and lightning split the sky again, showing more shark-Spectres closing in on her. She screamed in wordless terror, and turned her head back towards the boat, desperately seeking some sort of salvation.

She shadowy figure of Paul rushed up to her and looked over the edge. He gasped in horror, but didn't hesitate. He dropped his sword and reached down to grab Hannah past the elbow, and she let go of the boat, trusting in him, and grabbed him past his elbow. She could feel her flesh tearing apart at the thigh. The teeth were sinking into her bone, and the thrashing of the jaw was starting to crack it. She felt the weight of two bodies dragging her down. Paul grunted, then shouted in exertion as he pulled her up with all his strength. She pulled with her arm at the same time, and slowly, with the force of their combined efforts, she began to lift back into the boat. She pushed off the edge with her other hand, and as she came closer to her lover, her savior, she pushed off the boat and rapidly wrapped her arm around him.

The force of her pushing into him, and then pulling herself into him, caused Paul to fall backwards, pulling Hannah with him. She fell on top of him, almost entirely in the boat. She almost wept in joy and relief – until she felt the shark-Spectre thrash forward, angry and hungry. He bit further up her right thigh, ripping her flesh apart, tearing her bone asunder. She screamed again, begging Paul to "Get it off me!" At the moment she screamed, lightning split the sky, and the beast was illuminated, a ravenous creature with hateful human eyes staring at her, mad with desire to destroy, its fins clearly warped hands, its whole form some badly constructed mockery of an idea of a shark, poorly molded from a broken human form.

Paul crawled out from under Hannah and grabbed his sword as the monster thrashed forward and bit further and further up her leg. Soon it was at the top of her leg and was biting into her stomach and pelvis, the pain making her thrash and scream in utter agony. Paul raised himself up and raised his blade in the air, swinging it down onto the monster's neck. He hacked downward over and over, screaming and desperate as Hannah crawled forwards to escape the agony and horror, only to have the beast hold on with vice-like jaws. Each time Hannah tried to pull herself forward, she barely moved a few inches, dragged down as she was, until suddenly, her next thrust forward propelled her to the other side of the boat. She looked back, barely able to see with the stars obscured by clouds that were now pouring down rain, but she could make out the outline of the shark-Spectre, and see that her right leg and a large piece of her lower torso were missing. The shark screamed triumphantly and inhumanly, before Paul swung down with his sword one last time and severed the creature's head, along with the piece of her torso that was inside its mouth. The end of her leg still stuck out at the end of its open throat. At this point, her raw terror overcame everything else, and Hannah didn't even have time to be disgusted. She simply crawled to the other end of the boat.

Paul stood there, staring down at the snapping jaw, at the still thrashing body, and then just stepped over the head and walked over to Hannah. He sat down next to her, exhausted, dropped his sword, and fell down onto her, his head on her chest. He held her, hugged her, and cried in relief.

For a minute, all either of them could do was cry. They had both given themselves over to despair, both thought they'd never see the other again, both been consumed by their shadows. The absolute relief they felt was too much for words, too much for anything but a raw outpouring of relief and joy, of pure overwhelming love. They simply clung to one another, warming each other, and it was only in that moment, when they basked in the warmth of love, that they realized how frozen and bitter they had been.

The raw positive emotion had a few effects – first, both had their physical exhaustion immediately drained, as though they had both just rested for days. Secondly, they both started to heal their wounds, regrowing their lost limbs, first closing the wounds, then slowly growing stumps that extended outward and hardened, all while they sat and cuddled and whispered to each other about how much they loved one another, how the other person meant the world to them. Finally, the shark-Spectre's severed head screamed in agony as the outpouring of positive emotion drained it, and its corpus thrashed wildly and spewed ectoplasm over the boat. The head tried desperately to move forward, but could do nothing but scream impotently.

It could have been minutes or an hour they sat there – all that mattered was that when they were done, they were both healed and refreshed, and the Spectre had exhausted itself. Hannah was the first to speak. "I don't know how I found you, but thank you, Paul. I almost gave up, almost let myself sink. You were all that kept me going. Thank you."

Paul sat up, staring down at Hannah. "I had given up. I... I don't know, I was just sitting here, hoping I found you. I kept... I kept trying to use Argos or whatever to figure out where you were – it was off, by the way, I just kept imagining I should go that way," he said, pointing to their right, "but it didn't matter, since I didn't have a paddle. I just kept thinking about how I'd never see you again, how it was just pitch dark and there was no way..." He leaned down and grabbed Hannah, pulling her up and hugging her.

As Paul pulled Hannah up, she noticed that she had been almost underwater in the boat, that it was filling up quickly from the downpour. She hugged Paul, but her fear was once again getting the better of her. _If we capsize, we're fucked, and this was all for nothing. __**Oh, if only you had a bucket. Too bad. Now you get to be dragged down together. How romantic! Maybe Paul's Shadow and mine can be partner Spectres when all this is over. See, then you'll still get to have your dream! **_

Hannah started cupping her hands and throwing out small amounts of water. "Paul," she shouted, starting to panic again, "we need to get this water out! Do you have anything...?"

Paul shook his head, telling her, "Honestly, while the boat was filling up, I sat here figuring it was just a matter of time before I sank. I saw the sharks, I was scared of them at first, but then I was almost ready to accept... but now that you're here, there has to be a way to..." Paul looked around, desperate. Hannah felt her heart sink. _I thought he'd be able to handle this place, at least, but if he's lost...wait...the sharks..._

And then Hannah had a moment of inspiration. She grabbed the thrashing shark head, and used its huge maw to scoop up a bunch of water. A lot of it started pouring out the throat at the bottom, but not so much that she couldn't toss most of it over the side of the boat.

The Spectre was having none of it, however, and started biting madly towards her face. _Fuck! What can we...? _And then she realized, they had another tool at their disposal, on which had nearly dragged her down. "Paul, chain this thing! Put it in shackles!"

Paul stared dumbly at her, then the body. Lightning cut through the sky, illuminating the way that the fins were just expanded and warped arms and hands. Paul pulled the keys out of his pocket, unlocked one of the sets of shackles around his chest, and then shoved the wrist cuffs roughly over the fins, about where the wrists should be. It was a tight fit, and the body thrashed as the head screamed as he locked the cuffs into place, until Paul shouted, "Stop moving! And shut up!" And sure enough, the Spectre went still and quiet.

It's jaws were stuck open. Hannah smiled and started bailing out the ship with her makeshift bucket. Sure, about a fourth of the water leaked back out the throat hole at the bottom, but a bucket with a hole was better than nothing. "Genius!" Paul exclaimed. "God, what would I do without you?" After awhile she began to tire and move slower and slower. Paul reached out to her, telling her, "You've done more than enough. I got this." Taking the severed head from her, he finished bailing out the boat as Hannah collapsed into it, able at long last to rest.

As she sat there, decompressing, she let her mind wander. _So, my shadow is full of lies. I should have known that all through this struggle, but... it seemed so reasonable. Playing into my deepest fears and despair. Well, I should take this as a lesson. I'm meant for something more. My Grandma always said so. Though... it's not like I did much in life. But she always did add that caveat... "You're destined for something great, in this life or the next." How could she have known? I wish I understood half the weird mystical stuff she believed in. When she died, she left so many questions, and a bunch of confusing old journals and references that I never really had time to dig through. I had to handle her estate, and then I ran off to LA, and then I was so busy I never had a moment of time... I wish I could find her, somewhere in this insane afterlife... _In that moment, Hannah gained another reason to keep on existing.

Her main reason to keep on existing turned to her, finally done with bailing out the boat. The rain had stopped, and once again the clouds were clearing, revealing stars and illuminating the world enough that Hannah could make out more than shadows – she could see enough features to make out Paul's face and see clearly inside the boat. Paul dropped the head and sat down next to Hannah, resting his head on her shoulder. They sat there for a few moments, at peace.

Hannah was the first to break the silence. "I thought I would never see you again. But I refused to give up hope. Love kept me going. I know, it's corny. But... I mean, my shadow it..."

"...tried to convince you how reasonable it was to just give up? Taunted you about how helpless you were?"

Hannah nodded. "Pretty much. Our Shadows are clever. I can't help but think they brought those Spectres to us. All the more reason for us to never trust a word our Shadows say. If anything, we should do the opposite of whatever our shadows suggest."

"Yeah, makes sense." Paul responded. "It doesn't matter. You're safe now."

Hannah nodded, her head sinking down into Paul's chest as he had to support his own head now. "Yeah, I'm always safe with you. Just... just don't make crazy decisions without talking to me from now on, okay? I mean... I know that last one, the one that led your down here was all your shadow, I just... just use caring about me to hold out against it, okay? In this place, all we have is each other, so... sol let's stay strong for each other, okay?"

Paul nodded, a tear falling down his face. "I know I fucked up, I've been thinking about it nonstop since I had a chance to think. I mean, yeah, the society up top is fucked up, but I never meant to throw us into this unknown hell, I just... my shadow just used my rage to get to me, but... I just was weak, I just fucked everything up for us, maybe forever, and I..." Paul broke down and started crying on Hannah's shoulder, pulling her close as tears ran down her shoulder.

Hannah held Paul close and felt a deep despair run through her, but no tears reached her eyes. Her bitterness was far too deep to allow any tears – she was at the point of accepting that their afterlives would be horrible, that there was nothing either of them could do. But, she thought, _at least I can comfort him, if nothing else._ And so she held him close and stroked his head as Paul cried on her shoulder.

After awhile, his tears stopped, and she turned to Paul. "It's okay. Look, this world is hard. Harder than the last one. But at least now we can get past all the silly issues that kept us from loving each other in life. That's worth the world to me."

Paul looked into Hannah's eyes. "You mean it? You forgive me?"

Hannah nodded, smiling. "Yes. Of course. I mean, it wasn't you, anyway. I can't hold you responsible for what your Shadow did. Especially since you let it become powerful because you were trying to help me. And honestly, if you hadn't found a way to talk to Lucius, I'd be in chains right now. So... thank you. For everything." Hannah leaned in and kissed Paul, and their love and hope fueled their Pathos.

They separated, and just stared at each other for a few seconds. Paul told her, "I don't know how you make all the pain and despair go away, but thank you. For the longest time I thought you were someone I could never have. I don't care if I had to wait until the afterlife – I'm glad we died if it let us be together"

Hannah smiled at him, embarrassed at how heartfelt he was. _I always thought he'd never accept me for who I was. I was afraid and ashamed. But he accepted me from the start, and I know he'll never leave. I can still hardly believe this is real – that a whore like me found pure, true love_. Hannah stared back, straight into his eyes, and told him, "I'm glad death brought us together, too. I'll always love you." She moved in for another kiss, and then separated. They stared into one another's eyes again for a few seconds. Hannah was the first to break her gaze away, her anxiety making her wonder, "So, what now?" The ocean stretching off in all directions made her heart sink a little – was this going to be all their existence was for... well, who knew how long they would just drift there before finding something? And who knew what they could encounter out here?

"Well," Paul replied, sighing, "I think our only hope of figuring that out is if Guiterrez was right about me having Argos. I mean, he said something about being able to navigate. I keep getting this sense we should go that way..." Paul stood up, and pointed to the right and forward a bit. "...I just don't know what's over there."

Hannah was dubious, but she kept her reservations to herself. _After all, if he was able to hide us before, maybe he can find our way out of here. _She decided to put her faith in him, since she sort of had anyway. "I believe in you, Paul. Guiterrez said it would lead us to the byway, where everything is safe and stable, so... let's go there."

Paul smiled at her. "Thanks for the vote of confidence. I know I normally acted like I knew what I was doing in life, but half the time I was just... faking it to make myself and you feel good. I just... anyway, we still don't have a paddle."

Hannah sighed and looked around. There was nothing in the boat but the shark-Spectre there. Paul was the inspired one, this time. "Oh, duh! I'm sure you already thought of it," he said as he walked over to the shark-Spectre's body. _Um... no, no ideas so far..._ Paul raised his blade and cut the tail off the corpus. "You thought of using the head to bail out the boat – so why not use the tail as a paddle?" _Oh, of course._

Hannah wanted to give credit where it was due. "Honestly, that last idea is all yours. I was drawing a blank."

Paul smiled at her, and told her, "Don't be so modest. You never give yourself enough credit." He moved to the back of the boat and started paddling with the shark's tail.

As they moved through the flood, Hannah sat and tried to relax. Her anxious mind couldn't sit still, though, and so she had questions for Paul. "So... where did this boat come from?"

Paul shrugged. "I have no idea. After plummeting to the ocean with that demon, I fought him underwater. Once he was under, he started sinking faster than me, but tried to hold me and drag me down while hacking at me. But I was under him when we hit the water, and my sword ended up right through him. I took advantage of it, cut him in half from the waist up, then hacked off his normal arms. After that, he sank below me. He managed to get one of mine, but I could still swim – sort of. I was so heavy, I barely managed – it was like I struggled with all my strength to move an inch. My Shadow kept mocking me the whole time, telling me it was pointless, that I'd never find you. I struggled for... well, ever. And then, right as I was about to hit the surface – bam! My head slammed into something. This. So I climbed in, and here we are."

Hannah nodded. _Makes sense, I guess – or as much sense as anything does in this place, anyway. Still, this boat seems familiar somehow_. Anxious as always, she went around and checked the outside of the rowboat – and what she saw took her breath away.

"No way..." she muttered to herself, stumbling back into the boat and planting herself down in it, stunned.

"What?" Paul asked, going to the edge and looking over. "All I see is some name, 'Rider on the Storm.' Kind of appropriate, but..."

"This was my uncle's boat," Hannah told him, dazed. _How can this be here? How does anything get here, for that matter?_

"What?" Paul turned around and walked over to Hannah, sitting down next to her. "Are you sure?"

Hannah nodded. "My uncle was a huge Doors fan, and thought the name for his rowboat was so clever. He used to take me out in it when my mom and I visited him, while she was still alive back when I was like... oh I dunno, six. I remember he would let me row, or at least let me think I was – he would always be pulling the oars with me, but I thought I was actually moving the boat. We'd row out into the ocean, drop anchor, and just swim out in the open sea. After my mom died, we didn't visit him for a long time. When I went back, around age twelve, the old thing had a hole in it from colliding with a reef. It was starting to rust through, the paint was chipping off. I was so sad to see it had died. Funny, to think about an object dying. He didn't care, he'd just bought a new one and was too cheap to pay someone to haul it away, but I actually cared about the thing. I wonder what happened to it? I guess it must have finally got scrapped when he died. But how is it here?"

John's eyes lit up. "Of course! Do you remember what John said? About how relics were made before people started soulforging? If an object that someone cares about is destroyed in the land of the living, it's ghost continues down here! Since you were the only one who cared about the boat, it's probably you that brought it here. So... I guess it kind of makes sense it showed up right were we fell into the tempest. Maybe... I dunno, maybe it wanted to be near you, or you summoned it or... I don't know how this works, but if your mind, your feelings brought it here, that kind of makes sense, right?"

Hannah nodded smiling. "Yeah, I guess it does. It... it seems like a childish fantasy, the 'Rider on the Storm' showing up in my darkest hour to take me safely through the Tempest. Then again, maybe it's those kind of fantasies that keep things alive down here. Who knows? I'm just glad it's here for us." Hannah laughed, thinking of how absurd all this was as Paul went back to the back of the boat and started paddling, slowly pushing back and laboriously lifting the awkward tail up and back towards him. _I wonder what Uncle Mark would think of all this? I wonder if he's around? And... and... what if my mother's here, too?_ The desire to find her family became a new driving passion for Hannah, though she was still far more interested in finding her grandmother, the woman who had raised her. _After all, I barely even knew my mother that well. Even when she was around, it was mostly my Grandmother who was taking care of me. My mother was always going on trips, or distracted... I always did wonder what was going on with her... but it was really my Grandma who raised me from the beginning. Where could I find them? I guess my uncle would be at his house, and my grandma at hers. As for my mom... I mean, she grew up in the same house I did, so she's probably there. If the house is still there, that is... I never even thought to check after selling it. _The thought that she might have accidentally destroyed most of her Grandmother and Mother's relics, might have destroyed their haunt so she could chase her dreams, which had ended with her becoming a whore in LA, hit her pretty deep. _No, it was a nice home, I'm sure it's still there. And I kept a few of my Grandma's old things – they're in The Confession. They're safe._

Hannah sat, brooding over her life and the mistakes she had made, which had led her to her current place. _I was such a fool, to think I could change the world with my writing. I mean, yeah, I was alright, but my wistful invocations of nature, and an appreciation for the little things in life, was never going to go over in Hollywood. I mean, shit, that place eats sleeps and breathes overstimulation. Who was going to go in for my scripts about trying to find quiet dignity in dark places? I should have stayed in the bucolic countryside. I should have found some menial job and kept that home that made me so happy. Instead I burned out, got ripped off, and my life was a waste, where I just sat back and let it happen to me. Paul was the only good thing to come out of my downward spiral. So... what now? I mean, does my life have any more meaning? Do I have a chance to live out my dreams in this world? Could I publish among the dead? Maybe the desperate attempt to find beauty in small things would go over better here. Question is, how do I write? On relic paper? Or on the skin of a Spectre? Ugh._ Hannah shivered, as she realized this place was a pretty bleak place to try to live out dreams that didn't work out in life.

She sat in silence, the only sounds the waves lapping up against the side of the boat, the tail paddling in the water, and the wind gently blowing through her hair. The Tempest was clear and cold, the ocean stretching out in all directions, no sign of any end in sight. After awhile, Hannah laid down and stared up at the strange stars as they passed overhead. There were so many, and so strange – she remembered learning all the constellations, sitting outside at night in the summer with her Grandma, who had explained what all the shapes were, told her the old Greek myths and explained the different zodiac signs, what they meant. She recalled how seriously her Grandma had taken Astrology. _Who knows? Maybe there was something to it. Maybe if I'd chased my dreams at the right month, it would have gone better. I wonder what sign I died under? I wonder if there's a whole different set of Astrological rules here? She'd know..._

The weirdest thing was the way the stars slowly moved. _They must be close. Oh, of course. I remember now – the hole we came out of was one of those points of light. Is that what those are? Holes from the surface – the Shadowlands – into this place? No wonder it looked like a pitch black hole in the ground from the other side. I guess there are permanent holes like the one Guiterrez temporarily opened. There's a scary thought – that you could just take a wrong turn up there and stumble into one, and just fall from the sky. Or that Spectres could crawl up into the Shadowlands from those holes at any time. Still, not my problem right now. Hell, I wonder if I'm even going to make it back to the surface. How would we get all the way up there? Guiterrez mentioned a way through into LA – but it's probably guarded. If I can't get up there, how can I find my family again? So we have to find a way. To let the people I care about know I still remember and love them. In this dark, cold place, something like that could make all the difference in the world. And there's Paul's crusade to stop this Plague. I suppose I should care, too. It killed me. Others are suffering, like me. It's the right thing to do. Grandma would say it would give me good Karma, and I suppose I didn't do much to accumulate that particular currency in life. I wasn't bad... well... depending on how you define bad... but I didn't really do much that wasn't for myself once my dreams died. Maybe that's how I come to terms with myself in this existence. But how does it all end? Is it just a struggle to keep existing forever? Is the only alternative oblivion? Is there no heaven, no rebirth?_

Hannah thought on that point a bit more. _Father Francis said that not all souls ended up here. Maybe some go straight to Oblivion, but some probably go... somewhere else. Wherever we're supposed to go, I suppose. That only the restless end up here. I wonder if my grandma even got stuck here. I'm sure my mom did. And who knows, maybe my Grandma stayed behind for something. Maybe to watch over me. Oh god. I hope not. The things she saw me do..._ Hannah felt sick, thinking about what her family members might have seen her do. _Ugh, I hate to think how watching that might have fed her shadow..._ Hannah felt positively ill, and sat up, trying to find anything else to focus on.

Unfortunately, there was nothing but dark ocean in all directions. There wasn't even weather to break the monotony – the sky was clear, the wind had died, and the ocean was calm, with barely a wave present. The only sound was the repetitive sound of Paul paddling, a regular liquid sound. The monotony was soul-crushingly dull, but Hannah was sick of being left to her own thoughts. _We're going to see land... or something eventually._ She moved to the front of the ship and peered forward, trying to find any sign of anything. She sat for the longest time, and as the minutes passed into hours, she found herself drifting away into her thoughts again. It was her shadow that started the conversation, though.

_**Would we even want to find my family? I didn't really know my mother, she never really cared about us while she was alive, and what will we say to our grandma if she was watching us in life? Is that what you really want? Shame and rejection?**_

_Grandma always told me she'd love me no matter what. And I don't know what was going on with my mom, she was probably dealing with a lot she didn't want to burden me with. _But Hannah couldn't help but be afraid of the outcome of seeing her family again – a seed of deep doubt and anxiety had been planted, and her new passions were already poisoned by fear. Hannah tried to change the subject. _Besides, its not like it matters – we're probably not going back to the Shadowlands. It's... probably better that way, anyway. __**So what, you think you're going to be here forever? I'm sure there's a great existence waiting there here for you. Even if you find solid land, this place is barren. There's no one here... except, you know, for Spectres. Maybe I should try and summon a few of them, I'm sure they'd love to come hang out! **__If you could do that you would have already. And there has to be something out here – Guiterrez had a plan. __**Oh, silly Hannah, running off into a terrible place with no plan again, chasing some silly dream. And who says I didn't summon the Spectres who attacked you earlier? Who says your own angst didn't bring them? Who says I can't bring them any time, and I'm just letting you see how pointless struggling at all is? **_Hannah felt sick with worry – she had a sinking feeling that her fear had brought the Spectres earlier, and she felt the fear of fear starting to eat at her mind again. And she noticed with increasing horror that the wind was picking up and the clouds coming back in. She turned back to Paul, desperate for comfort. "Are we close?"

Paul grunted in exertion. "Yeah, actually, we should almost be there. I just... have this sense of location. I dunno, but you should be able to see something by now."

_**Unless he's deluded. Unless you are all lost.**_ Hannah pushed her Shadow from her mind as best she could and returned to the front of the boat peering desperately forward, hope and desperation propelling her forward in equal force, and a strong wind picked up from behind her. She needed to see something, to drown out the mocking voice of her Shadow with proof that hope was real. She leaned forward and squinted her eyes, looking like the figurine on the head of the old sailing ships. And so she stayed, immobile, desperate and frozen, each moment stretching on until she felt like she had been there an eternity, until...

"There! Land!" Hannah screamed, pointing, before turning back to Paul and running across the boat. She had barely seen anything, but she had been staring so hard, and she had to believe there was something.

Paul stopped paddling and peered ahead, narrowing his eyes. "Where? I don't see anything..."

Hannah's heart dropped. _Did I just make it up out of desperation?_ She ran back to the front of the ship, shouting, "Just keep moving forward!" She was so focused on the horizon that she hadn't noticed the way the clouds were covering up more of the stars, reducing the light and her visibility. She stared intently again, hoping against hope her angel proved true, clinging to the only light she had as the darkness within her mocked her hope relentlessly. It seemed like hours, but really it was only minutes, though in the Tempest time is as fluid as the weather. And then she saw it again. A solid line, rising higher than the horizon had been before. She stayed put, not saying anything but uplifted by hope. She had to keep looking, to wait until it was extremely obvious before she said anything this time. It rose higher and higher, slowly at first, and then it was too obvious to ignore. She turned back to Paul. "There, the horizon is... well, rising! There's something solid in front of us! You see it?"

Paul looked up and smiled. "Yeah! Finally! For awhile there, I was afraid I was going crazy, just steering us in a random direction and deluding us... oh man. I didn't want to say anything to upset you, but..."

Hannah walked over to Paul and wrapped her arms around him. "Obviously you know what you're doing. I never doubted you for a second," Hannah lied. _Why let my insecurities infect him? If he can't believe in himself, we're both doomed. The least I can do is to help his confidence. __**Right, because Paul would never become overconfident and do something stupid...**_

Hannah pulled herself away from Paul sat back down in the middle of the boat, staring at the land in front of her, smiling at the proof her Shadow was wrong. She was excited at first, but it was still a long way off, and their progress was slow. Still, the line of ground extended upwards slowly, across half the horizon. _I wonder what it is?_ It was unclear – it seemed to be a large wall. It loomed larger and larger, but its exact form was concealed in increasing darkness as the clouds covered more and more of the sky, as the stars seemed to go out. There was only one clear feature – a huge concrete jersey barrier running along the top, stretching out to the left and right into infinity. The rest of the structure moved down to the water at a harsh slope, though it definitely wasn't vertical. At the very bottom, there were rocks that extended out almost horizontally into the ocean.

The 'Rider on the Storm' hit the outermost rock with a metallic 'clang.' Hannah lurched forward, nearly falling out of her seat. "Sorry," Paul said, abashed. "I wasn't really looking where I was going, just focusing on paddling in the right direction. It was really awkward, using one oar instead of two. And not even a real oar." He looked down at the shark's tail, then dropped it into the boat, next to the body it once belonged to. He walked over to the Hannah's seat and asked, "Are you ok?"

"Yeah," Hannah replied. "I didn't even fall or anything." She stood up, stepped over the front seat, and stepped off the boat – and nearly slipped on the slick rock. She grabbed the front corner of the boat and barely stopped herself from falling. She pushed herself back up.

Paul ran over to her – and nearly tripped over the front seat. He steadied himself by grabbing on either side of the boat, nearly falling onto Hannah as she was pushing herself up. They both steadied themselves and turned to each other at the same time, asking almost simultaneously, "Are you hurt?"

There was a moment of silence, followed by laughter. "Okay," Paul said after their laughter subsided. We need to be careful. Let me go first." Hannah nodded, not wanting to slip and break her leg, so she stepped over the seat and around Paul, sitting down on the middle seat while Paul carefully stepped off the front of the boat.

A light rain started to come down. _Great. Because it wasn't wet, slippery, and dangerous enough already._ Paul gingerly stepped forward – there was about ten feet of very shallow smooth rocks before the pile abruptly went steeply up. The rain was forming tiny rivulets down the shallow portion, running out into the sea through the gaps between the rocks. Paul turned around after taking a few steps, grabbed the front of the boat, and dragged it up onto land.

Hannah stepped forward, announcing, "Hold on, I'll help." _I remember it was easy to pull a boat up at first – it's so light in the water, even with people in it. But as soon as the front gets on land, it's so heavy._ She stepped off the front of the boat, far more carefully this time, but Paul insisted on giving her a hand down. _He'll always be trying to play the role of white knight in shining armor. Kind of annoying sometimes, but I've really appreciated it since dying._ She stepped down gingerly, then turned around and hauled the boat up with Paul. They pulled it most of the way up the shallow section, which was enough to have the boat fully on land. Paul and Hannah turned around and looked up at the pile.

It looked to be about thirty feet tall, and went up at about a sixty degree angle. The true nature of the construction only became clear when they were almost on top of it – there was a pile of jersey barrier sections haphazardly tumbling down from the uniform barrier at the top. The concrete barriers at the bottom had been worn away by the ocean, and were smooth, if irregular rocks. While the bottom of the pile was larger than the top, it wasn't much larger – it seemed like the pile was in danger of falling further down at any moment. They both stared at the pile in silence for about a minute. _Jesus, do we have to climb this thing? I don't think I've done anything so physically exhausting in... well, ever. I know Paul has climbed buildings and stuff before, but I don't know if I'm up for this. Especially in the rain... __**Aw... but this is your salvation, here! You put all your hopes in Paul, and now he's delivered you to safety! It would be such a shame if you couldn't make it, if you fell and broke your corpus and ended up in a Harrowing. It would break his heart... better not disappoint him!**_

Paul was the first to break the silence. "This looks tough. We're going to have to work together, carefully. If only we had some rope, or something..."

"Yeah," Hannah responded, "if only. I mean, all we've got is that shark, and it's not like we could..."

Paul looked over at Hannah as her words drifted off. "You have an idea?"

"Yeah..." _Ugh, this place is making me think in a very sick way. But if corpus is all we have to work with..._ "...just think about it. What body part is like a rope?"

About ten minutes later, the shark-Spectre was thoroughly eviscerated, and Hannah was holding about forty feet of intestines. She stood in the boat, which now looked like something out of a horror movie – as did she – except for the fact that there was dark blue ectoplasm everywhere instead of blood. Hannah was not happy. She had already dry-heaved three times, which as she found out was the closest she could get to vomiting, and was not nearly as cathartic. Ectoplasmic tears were running down her face, which she was trying to hide. She even had to do the worst part of it – Paul had immediately volunteered without hesitation, he also looked like a Texas Chainsaw Massacre – Blue Man Group crossover. He pulled the intestines out while Hannah held them. _God, death is horrific. I mean, I was scared of it while alive, but I had no idea what was in store for me..._ Paul pulled the last bit of rope out. "Finally," he said as he breathed a sigh of relief. "Let's get a move on."

The two of them stepped out of the boat, only to realize that the sea level was rising – the boat was halfway in shallow water. Hannah spoke up first, eager to take her mind off what had just happened. "Hey, maybe we should pull the boat up further, so it doesn't drift off."

Paul nodded, staring blankly at the boat, a little shellshocked himself. "Yeah, that makes sense. Okay." They each grabbed the boat with one hand, while holding the coiled intestines with the other. After hauling the "Rider on the Storm" up to the pile of Jersey barriers, they stopped, physically and emotionally exhausted. They both sat down, their backs leaning against the steep pile.

Hannah's anxiety got the better of her, however. "Hey, Paul," she said to break the silence, "we should flip the boat upside-down. My uncle always did that in case it got filled with rain. And so it wouldn't drift off if the tide rose, which it looks like it might. Of course, he always tied it to something, too..."

Paul sighed. _Oh no, am I starting to drag him down?_ He got up and looked around. "I don't see any place we could tie the boat to. Which is a shame, since I'm pretty sure the ocean's going to rise a lot. This boat will probably be helpful in the future – and it means something to you. To both of us, now. I'd hate to lose it." He looked regretfully at the boat.

Hannah was heartbroken at the idea of losing the 'Rider on the Storm'. _My childhood pirate ship, the one I went on so many fantasy adventures in, resurrected out of nowhere to save my soul, and now lost..._ She looked around, desperate, even as her heart despaired and drove towards apathetic acceptance, making her passion a little weaker, making her soul a little more numb. And then she noticed it. "Paul, the jersey barriers have metal loops at the end. I think its how one barrier hooks into another. Anyway, we could use that..."

Paul's eyes widened as he realized they wouldn't lost the 'Rider on the Storm' after all. "Plus, we can use the loops to help us climb! If only we had a hook on the end of the rope... one thing at a time, though." Paul tied the thick end of the intestines, the large intestines to a metal loop sticking out of one of the concrete constructions. He then ran about three feet of 'rope' out, the end of the thick large intestines, and cut it with his sword. Hannah held the rest of their 'rope.' Paul tied the other end of the 'rope' to the loop at the pointed end of the boat. Paul then proceeded to empty the contents of the boat out – their makeshift 'paddle,' their 'bucket,' and what was left of the body, chains and all. Then Paul flipped the boat over on top of its former contents. He crossed his arms, clearly pleased with himself, before turning to Hannah. "Does that look right?"

Hannah nodded, smiling. "Perfect. So, what's the plan to get up here?" She had perfect confidence in Paul again.

Paul looked up, trying to appear strong and confident. But Hannah could see uncertainty on his face, and it bled into her. Paul turned back to her, putting a brave face on. "I think we can do this, even without a hook. I'll go up first, and then tie a rope to a loop, and then I can pull you up, okay?"

Hannah nodded, glad she wouldn't be able to screw up Paul's plan – she didn't have to do anything, after all. "Okay. Thanks, Paul. I don't think I could get up without you." _Probably true, and it can't hurt to feed his confidence a little. __**Oh yes, thank you my shining white night, I'm such a helpless damsel in distress! **__Oh, shut up. I have no experience with climbing – I was never even good at PE in high school! So it would be stupid for me to try this on my own. This makes sense._

Paul smiled back at her embarrassed. "I'm sure you could... anyway, hold on to this end of the rope, and I'll have the rest coiled around my shoulder as I climb. Okay?" Hannah nodded and smiled. Paul smiled back and handed her one end of the 'rope,' which she held on to tightly, despite the fact it was slick with ectoplasm. She wrapped the rope around her wrist a few times and gripped it tightly. Paul tied the other end around his waist. "Alright, Paul announced, "I'm going to have this loosely coiled around my arm. That way it can freely unravel as I climb. I learned this from Ryan, who took me rock climbing a few times. Once I get up, I'll pull you up. Now, you'll need to do your part to push up off the rocks with your feet, and to pull yourself up if possible, but I'll make sure you can't fall down. Okay, let's do this."

Hannah could see Paul psyching himself up, and knew she should encourage him, but her anxiety all but made her tell him to, "Be careful!" Paul nodded, then grabbed a metal loop on a horizontal, jutting out barrier above him and pulled himself up on top of it. From there, he proceeded to carefully lift himself up from one unsteady, uneven platform to the next, grabbing metal hooks and loops where available, simply grabbing the slick side of a barrier when he couldn't.

Paul was about two thirds of the way to the top when he fell. He had tried to reach up to a particularly hard to reach jersey barrier. He'd just got his second hand around it, and was finally starting to pull himself up when he suddenly slipped off and fell. He hit the barrier below him with a sickening crunch that made Hannah scream – but he wasn't done. He bounced, and fell further, and then proceeded to rapidly roll down the pile. The only reason he didn't hit the bottom was because while flailing around randomly he reached out and grabbed a metal hook at the end of a barrier, popping his shoulder out of place with a sickening crunch. A second later, he lay down on a barrier turned on its side, curling up in the fetal position and crying.

Hannah didn't hesitate. She started climbing. The first time she nearly missed the metal hook she was going for, and felt panic rising, threatening to cripple her. _I need to move, Paul needs me! _The fear of abandoning him, of her panic making her leave him, just made her feel like panicking more. However, instinct kicked in, and her fear became a motivating, rather than paralyzing force. She was shaking with fear, but fear also drove her on. She pulled herself up by the metal loop, though it was far, far more difficult than she imagined, making her time on the pull-up bar in PE seem like a breeze. Her hand hurt, her muscles burned – and she'd only managed to climb on top of the first barrier. She stopped and rested for a few seconds. _**Giving up already?**__ No, it's just if Paul couldn't even make it... __**There's no way you will. **__No, it's okay, I only need to get a little bit of the way up. __**And it only takes one mistake to send you plummeting to the rocks below.**_ She pushed her despair aside to let Paul know, "I'm coming for you!" before looking for another handhold.

Paul looked up, instructing her to, "Stay there! I've got this, I don't need... augh!" Paul's attempt to move had caused him incredible pain, and clearly he couldn't do anything. Hannah just kept climbing. Each move upwards was agonizing struggle and absolute terror of slipping and falling, but Hannah made sure she had a reliable handhold every time, and slowly but surely made her way up.

She herself nearly slipped like Paul had, when she was right below him and there was no way up but grabbing on to the edge of a wet jersey barrier, with no metal loop or hook to grab on to. Instead of risking it, Hannah, horrified by what had happened to Paul, climbed to the side until she found the more reliable loop, then pulled herself up and moved sideways towards Paul.

When Hannah reached Paul, she saw he had a broken leg, and she gingerly wrapped her arms around him. "Are you okay?" she asked, same inane question they had asked each other far to many times.

"Oh god," Paul replied. "I'm glad you're here, but you shouldn't have risked yourself. What if you fell? Ugh, my legs are both broken, I think."

Hannah looked down, and sure enough, both knees bent the wrong way. It was kind of sickening. "Is there anything I can do to help you heal?"

Paul nodded. "I know you mentioned once that you knew some medical stuff?"

Hannah looked away, embarrassed to be caught in... not a lie, so much as a huge exaggeration. "I mean... I took some first aid classes for this one summer job I got as a lifeguard..."

Paul nodded. "Okay. So you can reset a broken bone?"

Hannah shook her head. "I mean, I was trained in how to do it, but I never had to. I don't know..."

"Don't worry about it. Just do it," Paul demanded. "I'm dead anyway, so you can't really hurt me worse than I am. Just... just do it, please?"

Hannah steeled her stomach for what she was about to do to Paul. She reached down, grabbed one ankle with one hand, the busted knee with the other, and pushed _hard_. Paul screamed as pain shot through his corpus. Hannah felt like she might retch. But in the end, his leg was straight. Paul was panting hard. "Okay, now the other one." Hannah worked up her courage again and snapped the other broken leg back into place.

When Paul stopped screaming, he started crying, and when he stopped crying, he turned to Hannah and begged her, "Hold on, just let me focus on fixing this..."

Hannah held him, feeling relief wash over her that her love wouldn't have to be in pain any longer. "It's okay. You're so strong, Paul." Her love gave his soul strength, and through an act of will his Corpus was healed.

Trembling, Paul slowly stood up. "Okay," Paul said, laughing in delight as he stepped gingerly from foot to foot. "Okay. Completely healed. Thanks," he said, turning to Hannah and smiling at her. Then he looked up at the task ahead. "Man, I gotta be more careful. You need to get back down so if I fall I won't drag you-"

Paul was cut off by Hannah. "I'm not going back down. This is... progress. I'm not giving it up. Besides, we have tons of rope. I doubt you'll drag me down. If anything, I can pull you up if you fall." Hannah tied the rope around her waist to show her determination.

Paul sighed. "Alright, you have a point. Still... ugh, I was so close! Okay, lets try again, but more carefully this time." Paul began a much more careful ascent, making sure to only climb up when he had a sure handhold, and laboriously climbing sideways when he couldn't find a safe way up. The rain was pouring down now, and Hannah was constantly having mini panic attacks every time he reached up to grab something, terrified he'd slip. Soon she could barely see him, and that made it even worse. She only caught glimpses of him when lightning split the sky. Finally, after what seemed like hours, lightning struck, and Hannah could see that Paul finally reached the top. Well, almost. He was on top of the tumbled pile of jersey barriers, but the large barrier running across the top was beyond his reach. He turned back and shouted to her, "Okay, I've got secure footing, so I'm going to pull you up, okay? Try and climb, and I'll keep you from falling if you miss anything, and I'll shout when I need a break so you can get solid footing and wait for a bit. Okay?"

"Okay, got it!" Hannah shouted back at him. _Okay, this is gonna be tough, but I can handle it, I mean, if Paul could climb with no backup, I can do this._ Hannah felt the rope go tight around her waist. She reached up and grabbed a metal hook, and proceeded to lift herself up. It was a lot easier, now that Paul was pulling up half the weight. And a lot safer. There were two times when she lost her grip and would have fallen, only instead she simply fell a foot or two and then swung back toward the pile, regained her footing, and went back to climbing. Each time, her heart jumped out of her chest, only to settle back down as soon as she had solid footing again. _Oh god, there's no way I could do this without Paul, I'd be crippled by terror if I had to climb this without a safety harness._ It was slow but steady progress, and after about half an hour, Paul reached down to grab Hannah's arm at the elbow and pull her up onto the jersey barrier he was standing on. He pulled her into an embrace.

"We did it!" Hannah exclaimed. _I can't believe I actually made it up here._

"Not quite. We still have to get over that last obstacle. Then we're safe."

_Thanks, Paul. I knew that, I was just trying to celebrate a little. Don't have to be such a buzzkill. _Hannah sighed and collected herself. "Okay, so what's the plan for this?" She could see the final jersey barrier was huge, almost twice as tall as her and Paul.

Paul stood there for a minute, considering. Hannah didn't have any doubt one of them would think of something, though she was drawing a blank. _There have been so many times since coming to this Tempest when I was sure I was doomed, when there seemed to be possible way out, and giving up seemed like the logical thing. I always wanted to control my emotions and make logical choices, but that doesn't seem to be the way forward here. I guess, in this place, where reality is subjective, faith really can work miracles. I don't know if there's a higher power, but I have faith in Paul. And I have faith that together we can get through anything._

Paul finally spoke. "Okay, so here's my thought. I lift you up on my shoulders. You stand at your full height while I stand at mine. You can hold on to the barrier for balance. Then you pull yourself up to the top. Once there, I cut all the extra rope off, tie the end around myself so it's tight, and then you lean back and pull me up with all your strength and all your weight behind it."

Hannah thought about the plan, and decided, _Well, it's better than anything I can come up with. Which is nothing. And it makes sense. So..._ "Yeah, sure!" Hannah climbed on Paul's back like he was going to give her a piggy back ride, while facing the jersey barrier. Hannah lifted her feet onto Paul's shoulders and lifted herself up, steadying herself against the barrier. Once she was upright, Paul stood up straight, which almost unbalanced her for a second, but she was able to stay atop. They both made it a point to lean forward against the barrier. Hannah reached up and found she was an inch short of the top. Goddammit_, this is too close! There has to be some..._ Hannah jumped up, without warning, as high as she could go, and by pure willpower, managed to grab the edge of the barrier. Of course, she was barely holding on by her fingertips. She felt herself start to slip – until she felt Paul's hands push her feet up from under her. Hannah was able to pull herself up further with Paul's help, until she could finally grab the far end of the top of the barrier. After that, she pulled herself up completely, finally sitting on top of the barrier.

Hannah looked at the other side, eager to see what was hidden there. But it was now almost pitch black, as the rain came down in torrents. She heard Paul shout back to her, "Are you up? Are you safe?"

She shouted back, "Yeah! Cut off the extra rope and lets get you up here." While Paul cut and tied the rope, she stared back at the other side. But she couldn't make out anything in the dark downpour. She would have to leap in blind.

"Okay!" Paul shouted up. "I'm ready. Now remember, you aren't using your muscles, use your weight! Fall back!"

Hanna stood on top of the barrier, holding the rope in front of her, and started to lean back. Nervous apprehension started to gnaw at her – for falling backwards blindly into some abyss. Hannah just remembered those counseling sessions, where you had to put your trust into someone and fall into their arms. Hannah had always thought they were stupid, but now she was putting her complete faith in Paul to catch her fall.

She leaned back, and felt the rope go tight. Now halfway leaning on the side of the jersey barrier, she braced with her feet and pulled with her arms and her legs, all while letting gravity do its share of the work. She felt a strong pull ahead of her – almost strong enough to pull the two of them tumbling down the wrong side. But in the end, she managed to hold the line, and pulled the rope tight as Paul ascended. And there she stayed – until Paul made it to the top. The second there was slack on the rope, Hannah fell backwards into the byway.

Hannah's ears were ringing and her head was spinning, but she was unhurt except for some bruises. Paul jumped down next to her. "Are you ok?" asked the protector for the second time since entering the Tempest. Hannah nodded, and pushed herself up, shaking her head to clear it. As her head cleared, so did the cloud, as the rain quite suddenly cut off. Looking up, it looked to Hannah as though there was a narrow band of clear sky over the road, with thick clouds spreading out to the left and right. Looking down, she saw the byway for the first time, illuminated by the road of light above. It was so mundane, it seemed completely out of place in this world of madness. She and Paul were standing on a normal, asphalt road. On both sides there were huge jersey barrier dividers, probably to keep the chaos of the Tempest out, but in the middle, it was a calm, solid, and predictable world. Hannah laughed, almost uncontrollably – it seemed surreal after the endless chaos she had just come from.

Paul turned to her. "What's so funny?" he asked.

Hannah managed to reign in her laughter, though she was still wracked with occasional chuckles. "Nothing, just... I dunno, it's so weird, how normal this place is, how safe. It seems like a dream... and the rest of the Tempest is like a nightmare."

Paul smiled. "Yeah, I can barely believe we're safe now. But I don't know if we are, really. If we could get here, so could other Spectres – not to mention the flying ones. Keep an eye out."

_Goddammit Paul, can't you relax for even a second? That was always one of your greatest flaws – you take everything way too seriously. If you can't relax and laugh once in awhile, you'll go insane._ "Okay, but we're better off than we were. So where to now? Which way are we going?"

"Well," Paul replied, "that depends. Do we want to go to Stygia, or back to LA?"

Hannah took a minute to think about it. "I mean, we're probably wanted in LA, right?" Paul nodded. "But the other way is Stygia. A place we know nothing about, except that it's dangerous. Like, more dangerous than the rest of the Tempest." Paul nodded again. "What's that phrase? Better the devil you know..."

"...than the one you don't. Yeah, if people who jump into the Tempest like it's nothing are scared of Stygia, I'm not trying to go there. Guiterrez said its overrun with Spectres... if he doesn't feel like the Tempest is overrun with them, I don't want to see what that place looks like. I'm brave, but I'm not stupid. Unlike my Shadow, who keeps telling me I should go there, so we should probably do the opposite."

Hannah nodded, though she had her reservations. _At least in Stygia we aren't as likely to get arrested. I feel this is like back when we were running from the Legionnaires, if we had chosen to stay behind instead of jumping into the Tempest. But who knows what unknown dangers there could be... I just don't... __**And neither does Paul. You realize you're both flying blind, right? Is being melted down into an object for eternity really that much better than oblivion? Think long and hard, because an eternity as an unmoving object is a really, really horrible prospect.**_ But Hannah had decided to put her faith in Paul, and so she simply nodded and said, "That makes sense. So which way is LA?"

Paul closed his eyes for a few seconds, then pointed to the left from the side they had crawled over. "That way. C'mon, let's go."

There was one loose end to still tie up. "Hold on, what about this... rope?" Hannah pointed to the intestine connecting the two of them, then the giant coil in the road.

Paul pointed to the intestinal tract connecting the two of them. "I'd like to stay connected to you. I don't want to get separated again." Then, Paul looked at the coiled intestine on the road. "This could be useful. Hold on." Paul coiled the longer section around his arm, then around his waist, tying it off. "Okay, we're good to go. C'mon."

They walked down the road, the way before them clear.

They walked in silence for a bit, but eventually Paul spoke.

"Do you think there's a point to any of this?"

Hannah was taken aback by the question. "I... probably not. It seems like life. It all just kind of... is. Sure, our emotions create reality, which is probably why Oblivion seems so strong, but other than that, it's just whatever people make, for whatever reason, or probably for no reason, except to keep existing and enjoy themselves."

"That's kind of bleak."

Hannah shrugged. "I mean, what did you expect? You didn't strike me as the religious type or anything. You hung out with Vampires and stuff. What should the point be?"

Paul shook his head. "I don't know I just... I always thought there would be some kind of final justice, where the assholes and fatcats finally got theirs. I never thought about who would do it, never believed in God... just that everything would balance out. Like... that Karma would be this energy that would come back around on the people who put pain out into the world. But instead it's just all about will to power, where if you believe in something strongly enough you make it real. And it seems like people just believe in order, and structure, and when they don't have that, they just despair."

Hannah had a small memory stir inside of her, as she recalled the way she had been told by her grandma, and believed while still a young girl, that love was the meaning of life, that those who brought light into the world would one day get to be a part of the universal light that created the universe though an act of love. _As though this place was made through love._ "Who knows? I kind of thought about how much more comfortable I would be, in a simple predictable existence in LA for my afterlife. For someone strong like you, this kind of struggle might be what your afterlife is supposed to be about, but for most souls..."

Paul turned to Hannah, and was visibly upset. "You're strong, too! You kept pushing and found me, helped me get here!"

Hannah smiled back at him, but with sadness in her eyes. _Oh, you naive fool._ "Yeah, but I almost let myself sink, Paul. I kept swimming because I knew it would upset you. If not for that... I mean, if this is all we have to look forward to..."

Paul stopped and turned to Hannah, staring her directly in the eyes. "Don't you ever say that. Don't you ever give in to despair. You're a wonderful, brilliant person, and... and there's so much more for us to do. I don't know how all this is supposed to end, and I don't plan on staying here forever, I want to... I don't know, move on eventually, but that's not how it ends. I don't know how I know that, I just... I don't know, I feel it in my heart. Promise me you won't give up, no matter what."

_I... I can't make that promise. I'm not like you, I don't have that fiery conviction. It all seems to be pointless, and honestly, how do you know it won't all end with Oblivion? Maybe that's just death for the dead, and the only alternative is existing forever as a ghost, as a wraithly shadow of what we were, helpless to really affect anything. And God, isn't that the bleakest thing in the world? But... I guess as long as you're still here, I'd hate to be the reason you gave up, the reason you ended up falling into despair after me... so..._ "I promise. As long as you'll never leave me."

"Never!" Paul said with strength, before pulling Hannah in to a passionate kiss that lit up her soul for a second. "I'll always be here for you. If you get pulled into a Harrowing, I'm diving in after you." Hannah smiled at him. _You silly, single minded knight._

"Thanks," Hannah said. "You know, I wish I'd met you way earlier in life. When I first got to LA. When I still was young and had dreams."

"You know," Paul replied, "maybe that's what this place is all about. The chance for us to live out our lost dreams. Like going on an adventure in the 'Rider on the Storm.' Like writing something that inspires people. Or finally achieving some sort of social justice."

_How can you still have hope after everything we've been through? Are you delusional? I wish I could be that way. It doesn't matter. I'll just stay with you. Maybe it will rub off on me, somehow. And if not, I'm just happy to be here, to love you, to have some sort of purpose._

That was when Hannah noticed that one of the stars above them was moving. "Hey," Hannah said, pointing up, "You notice that?"

Paul looked up. "Yeah," he replied with alarm. "It seems to be moving faster and faster... and getting bigger. Which means its getting closer." Paul drew his sword and put an arm in front of Hannah, pushing her back as he told her to, "Get behind me!"

Hannah retreated, terror rising yet again. _I thought we were safe! Oh god, but those flying Spectres could easily reach us, how did I not realize that? I guess after struggling that long, that far, I just needed to think we were done, that I could finally relax and rest, but..._

The light grew larger, and flew right at them, blinding them. Paul raised his left hand to his eyes to shield then, and held his sword towards the light defiantly.

The light landed right in front of Paul and Hannah, and then a moment later the light dimmed, revealing Guiterrez holding his lamp.

Paul dropped his hand and his sword, laughing hysterically. "Thank God it's you! We thought you'd been lost forever."

Guiterrez smiled slightly inside his cowl. "I am perfectly able to handle an attack by Spectres. What I am impressed with is the fact you two made it. Did you swim here?"

Hannah shook her head and said, "We found an old relic boat I used to play in as a kid. We used a shark-Spectre's tail as an oar and its intestines to climb up."

Guiterrez widened his eyes. "Creative. As one must be in the afterlife – all we have to work with are the relics of our memories and the pieces of souls. A lesson most new souls take awhile to adjust to. I suppose necessity is the mother of invention. I'm quite impressed. Clearly, Paul, you have the gift of Argos, without which you would surely be lost on the seas. Which was the only reason I bothered to look for you along the byway."

Paul smiled. "Thanks for that. I thought we were going to have to make our own way."

Guiterrez nodded somberly. "You were about to have to. You'd taken quite awhile, and I was getting tired of flying back and forth over the byway, in larger and larger sections, hoping to catch a glimpse of two lone travelers on the road. If I hadn't found you, what was your plan? Go back to the LA necropolis? You'd be arrested, putting you back where you started. What then?"

Paul shrugged. "I don't know. It just seemed to make more sense than going to Stygia. We've heard about danger and chaos there, and we barely managed to survive the Tempest. If there were Legionnaires at the gates of the Necropolis, well... we would have figured it out. Maybe traveled with a trade caravan... I think I remember someone saying something about those. But I wasn't about to put us in danger, to risk having us separate again." Paul took Hannah's hand and squeezed it.

Guiterrez nodded. "Reasonable enough. Danger existed in either direction. I simply wanted to point that out to you – often there are no good or easy choices, but you still have to keep moving, and still have a sensible plan. And a sensible backup plan. Or three. Fortunately for you, I do have a good, safe option for you, a secret place of safety. You've proven your willingness to fight for what you believe in and have rejected conventional Hierarchy society, so I'm going to share this place with you. But you both must promise never to reveal to anyone how to get to it. It is your last refuge, and my society of renegades is the only group you have left – at least in and around LA. From here on out, you will be part of the fringe. It will be dangerous. If you don't want this, I can take you safely through Stygia, to any city in the world you want to go to. You can start a new, normal afterlife there. But you will be forever cut off from your relics. And, I don't know if you are aware, but if your relics, the physical objects that hold meaning to you, are destroyed, you are forever cut off from the Shadowlands. The Tempest becomes your home. So, there is a risk either way. Discuss your options, and choose."

_Well, shit. That's one hell of a choice. I mean... I guess our relics are safe now, aren't they? So... I could have a normal, safe afterlife, couldn't I?_ "What do you think? Should we stay around LA? I mean, you and I both used to talk about leaving it..."

Paul shook his head. "That was when we were still alive. Don't you see? We're bound to the places we were in life. Our relics keep us stuck there. Unless you want this place to be our home? Then we'd really be lost souls."

"But aren't our relics safe in the tower of the Confession?" Hannah asked.

"Only if Lucius is in charge. Only if he's safe, and manages to become part owner. Otherwise... what if Venus decides to clear that place out and make it a VIP room or something? No, we have to be around. Besides, this is our chance, to live out the dreams we never got to finish in life. We can try and make a difference in LA! If not in the land of the living, then at least among the dead!"

Hannah sighed. _Of course running away and starting over would be a foolish dream. He's right about our relics. I almost wish we hadn't got Lucius to keep them safe. If they were out of our hands, then there would be no reason not to leave. Except, of course, for Paul's idealism. What could we possibly do here? Still, I guess we do have to help Lucius somehow, though I still don't get what we can do for him. _"I suppose that makes sense." 

Paul turned to Guiterrez. "We've made a decision. We're going with you. We swear to keep your home a secret."

Guiterrez turned to Hannah. "And you? Do you agree to this? Do you swear to secrecy as well?"

_Don't really have a choice, do I?_ "Yes, I swear to keep this place a secret."

Guiterrez nodded, though he eyed Hannah askance. "Very well then. Follow me." The three of them walked down the road towards LA.

After half an hour or so, they came to a crack on the right side of the barrier, on the opposite side that they had climbed up from. Sheet metal had been placed over it to cover it. Guiterrez drew his sword without a word and cut right through the metal, then pulled it aside, revealing the Tempest raging on the other side and stepping through.

Paul followed Guiterrez, and Hannah followed Paul, stepping out onto land. The Tempest on this side of the byway was practically the opposite of what they had just experienced. It was desert. The wind immediately blew sand in Hannah's face, and she turned her head down, spitting find grains out of her mouth. She put a hand over her eyes and looked out. Intense wind blew sand across huge dunes, which moved across the desert with such speed that she could see them moving over the course of the minute they stood there.

"The Tempest takes many forms," Guiterrez explained, "and the only constant is that none are constant. But just as there are islands of stability in the ocean, so too are there solid pillars of rock among the shifting sands. We travel to one, a secret fortress. Follow me. Paul, mark well the direction we travel in, about forty degrees up from the horizontal right as one follow the byway. As you travel the Tempest, you should begin to gain a greater and greater sense of direction and be able to travel back to any location you visit, but do keep in mind that finding something large like a Byway, where you just have to travel in one general direction to reach some part of it, is far harder than locating a single point, where being even slightly off to the side means you'll miss your mark."

Paul nodded. "Yeah, makes sense. Though I can always just play back my memories and get exact details of where we go."

Guiterrez turned to look at Paul, wonder in his eyes. "Play back your memories? You can recall and relive those?" Paul nodded, confusion written on his face. "There is someone you have to meet. Don't ever mention that ability in the Necropoli. I'll explain more later. Here, take this and wrap it around your face and head." Guiterrez gave each of them a long scarf, which they used to shield their faces from the sand. Guiterrez simply lowered his head, the large hood protecting him. With that, he turned and left.

_I've been curious about that, ever since Paul mentioned it. I'd be really interested in trying to relive those memories I'd forgotten. And maybe forgetting some horrible things I remember. I wonder what this place will be like? Probably some dingy, sand-filled cave full of raving revolutionary fanatics. I'm sure Paul will like it. Is it so wrong I just want my afterlife to be somewhere comfortable and decent? Does that make me a coward? Oh well. At least we have somewhere to go._

They walked in silence, except for the screaming of the wind. They would often have to walk around huge dunes, and Hannah noticed that they always went around the backside of the dunes, the smooth side rather than the cresting side. _Makes sense, the dune could collapse on top of us if we went in front of it. _Fifteen minutes later, a squat stone formation appeared through the haze of blowing sand. It was a single solid stone that rose at a slope out of the ground, and the top was completely flat. The whole thing was about two stories tall, with the top being about the size of an average house, and the base being twice as wide.

They walked up to the structure, and Paul asked, "Now what?"

Guiterrez replied, "We move ninety degrees counterclockwise, and there is a hidden set of stairs that leads to the top. It is impossible to climb the perfectly smooth, slippery sides otherwise." They walked around, and Guiterrez stopped next to a small stone poking out of the ground next to the large structure. He turned toward the slope, which looked identical to the rest of the it, and started walking up. His feet seemed to pass through the stone, to land on flat surfaces hidden below. "Watch your step," he warned.

Paul followed Guiterrez, and Hannah followed Paul, carefully ascending upwards. They reached the top, which was smooth and blank. Guiterrez walked to the center of the flat surface, where there was a cylindrical protrusion about as wide as a person. He knocked on the top. A knock came from below. Guiterrez announced, "The struggle for justice continues," and the top opened like a hatch. Guiterrez climbed down the ladder, into the hidden bastion of rebellion.


End file.
